


A Twist in Fate: Timepeices and Revolutions

by Starren_Moonstone



Series: Timewatch [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Action/Adventure, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-01 13:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6521947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starren_Moonstone/pseuds/Starren_Moonstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a world meeting session in Vermont, Prussia goes missing. Finding him isn't the nations' biggest concern, for more trouble comes to them at two fronts: the past and future. As it becomes more and more apparent not all of them are going to make it out of this venture alive, they must team up with the nations of the future and use the power their past selves carry with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Distributing the Watches

**Author's Note:**

> I will warn you right now: this story is going to get a bit complicated. So to simply things: all the nations from the past will be called by their nation name and all the nations in the present will be called by their human name. The nations from the future will mainly be called by their nation name or self appointed title (sometimes, they will be called by a nickname, however I will make it clear who they are).   
> All the future peoples are OCs created by me. If you wish to use them, make sure you credit me for coming up with the idea.

_In the Future, far beyond the modern era, where the world has been changed completely from what we know, and the countries we have grown to love no longer exist…_

                The room is dark, with the exception of the cluster of candles grouped in the middle of the floor at the center of what looks like a spell circle. It is hard to see now, but when it was first put down, it glowed green. Surrounding this circular room are columns which support the ceiling and nine archways.

                The Illuminati looks at it from the sidelines. It has been a long time since he has seen it. The last time being over a century ago with the falling of the modern world. His mask is off for once to get the full sensation of the cold air around him. He can see his breath in front of him, making faint clouds of warmth. Over the past half millennium, he has gotten used to the cold, seeing as he kicked himself out of his homeland for the sake of his homeland. That and he couldn't stand seeing the broken remains of his homeland.

                He closes his eyes. He is not going to dwell on the past. The Wiccan has called him and no doubt the others here for a very good reason. The Illuminati has an idea about what this is all about, but not exactly why they would be talking about it here of all places. Sure, it was a secret place that no one knew about except for this small group of leaders.

                The Mason is the next to arrive. He is wearing the same black cape as he always wears. His mask being the Anonymous one used in V for Vendetta. He takes off the mask, showing a face almost completely cut up by knife scars, dividing his face into 53 parts. They are not a new development; the lack of glasses is though. It has been almost a century since he has seen the Mason with his mask off.

                "You've stopped wearing your glasses?" the Illuminati asks.

                "It's better that way. It's laser surgery. I had it done a while ago. About time, huh?" the Mason gives a broken smile.

                The Illuminati nods once, then continues gazing at the circle in the middle.

                The Mason shakes his head. "Even after all this time, I'm still not used to you being so silent."

                "To be honest, neither am I. But… there's nothing left for me to say now."

                The others trickle in one by one, each from a different archway. The Kreuzritter, The Komiet, The Mountie, The Samurai, The Baohu, The Musketeer, and The Wiccan.

                "Where is our Spaniard friend?" the Musketeer asks.

                "He will not be here this time," the Wiccan says, ignoring the fact that the Musketeer used an old name for a country that hasn’t existed in centuries, "He will be protecting the young nations to the best of his ability. Mountie, have you made arrangements?"

                "Yes, sir. Everything is all set on my side of the Atlantic," the Mountie said, saluting, "But… why exactly did I have to do all that? What are we doing?"

                "As you all know," the Wiccan begins, "I was charged with providing the tools to kill the main powers of the pre-modern world, before they grew powerful."

                "And of course, you found a way not to do that, no?" the Musketeer states, smirking in a way he hasn't done in years.

                "Yes…" the Wiccan glares at the Musketeer before continuing, "The problem is the Relesk found out about all of it and have tampered with my plan."

                "You took all precautions, right?" the Kreuzritter asks.

                The Wiccan nods. "I am as stunned as you. They might have found out by just holding the watches. My magic is very powerful. So, in order to protect them, I suggest that we all go back in time and personally guard them."

                "I thought you knew the risks better than anyone about time travel," The Mason says.

                "I have thought about this long and hard. The consequences of not going back outweighs everything."

                The room stays quiet for a moment. "Does my fratello know of this?" the Illuminati asks.

                "Yes, he does. He will be staying here with the Conquistador."

                The Illuminati nods. The Kreuzritter puts a hand on the Illuminati's shoulder then turns back to the Wiccan. "How soon do we leave?"

                "Now, unless there is a loose end that someone needs to tie up. I don't know if we will return from this particular venture or not."

                "I need one call," the Komiet says. The Wiccan nods and the Komiet steps out of the room, pulling out a communicator.

                "Does anyone else know about this plan?" the Baohu asks, "Besides us."

                "No. It's best that this plan of action is solely kept to ourselves."

                "Mostly so that New Rome doesn't try to follow us," the Mountie says in a joking voice.

                "She might. She just might," the Wiccan says in a serious voice.

                The Komiet comes back into the room and nods.

                "Good. Now, I need you all to gather around the circle and join hands." Once that is done, the Wiccan starts chanting. A wind whips around them like a gentle tornado as more of the spell is complete. Soon, the group of nine vanishes, leaving not a trace that they have been there, except for the candles. They have now been extinguished and turned red.

                The Mafia comes out from behind a pillar. He has been there all along, asked to come by the Wiccan but to keep out of sight. His task is solely to clean up the evidence just in case the area was invaded, something he is usually asked to do with dead bodies.

_"Keep the candles, though,"_  the Wiccan had told him,  _"They can be used again for spells. Put them in a safe or give them to Celtic Isles."_

                The Mafia sighs as he scrubs out the circle. By suggesting to give the candles to Celtic Isles means that the Wiccan was not expecting to come back. The conversation he overheard solidified that fact. And while he knew that this is for the greater good of the world, he couldn't help but feel sad that he would probably not see his brother again until they all died and went to heaven. And he has no idea when that would be. With the laws of nature, he should be there now. But he was still on Earth, for whatever the reason.

                The sound of running footsteps came into the room, making the Mafia jump up and pull out his ancient weapon, a pistol. He doesn't shoot, but waits, keeping his finger on the trigger.

                New Rome comes into the room, stopping when she sees the gun cocked. She lifts her hands up into the air in surrender. The Mafia rolls his eyes and puts the gun down. "I thought I told you to stay at home."

                "And I thought I told you I cannot be contained," she replies annoyed, crossing her arms, "Besides, you were being too sneaky and I thought that you were doing something rash. Again."

                "I am never rash. You must be thinking of the Illuminati and his death wish."

                New Rome sighs. "So what are you doing down here anyway?"

                "A favor for the Wiccan. He's busy with something and so he asked me to take care of this. Which reminds me, are you seeing Celty any time soon?" Celty is a nickname that everyone calls Celtic Isles.

                "Yeah, why?"

                "I have some candles that she can use."

                "She's always looking for candles. What are they?"

                The Mafia shows New Rome the red candles. She looks impressed. "Wow, these are rare. Where did you find them?"

                "The Wiccan gave them to me. Since I don't use spells, they would be of more use to her."

                New Rome stops smiling. "He gave them to you?" she asks slowly.

                "Yes. Why?"

                New Rome carefully looks at candles. She was mainly focusing on the bottoms. "These were colored by a spell, weren't they?"

                The Mafia does not reply, but continues to scrub out the spell.

                "What's going on?" New Rome asks, putting the candles into her bag.

                "Nothing you need to concern yourself with."

                New Rome grabs the Mafia by the shirt and brings him up to her eye level. The Mafia was used to her doing this to get his attention. "He's gone off and done something stupid, didn't he?"

                "Now what can you mean by that?" the Mafia says with hardened eyes.

                "You know exactly what I mean. The Wiccan has gone a suicidal mission, hasn't he?" The Mafia does not respond. "Where is he?" New Rome says viciously. Little wonder she gained so much power in under ten years; she was a fierce little Italian offspring.

                "He told me to tell you not to follow him. He's gone somewhere you can't go."

                "Why? And why not tell me?"

                "Just know it's for the better of the world."

                The Mafia can tell New Rome didn't like that answer, but is satisfied with it. She lets him go and he goes back to scrubbing the spell away.

                "It's always for the better of the world," she grumbles as she leans against the wall next to the archway she came in from. She does not move from that spot for a long time, watching the Mafia do his work.

                "You can go home, you know. You don't have to wait for me to finish this."

                "No, I'll wait," she says passive aggressively. She gets that way when she is pissed, especially when it comes to this group of spy leaders going off on missions that might kill them. The Resistance she calls it. They themselves call it the Pact, based on one they made a long time ago.

                "Are they gone?" a voice calls out from the hall.

                'Shit,' the Mafia thinks getting up from the ground.

                "They?" New Rome asks as the Conquistador comes into the room.

                "Oh, you're here," the Conquistador states nervously.

                "They?" she says again, more outraged turning to the Mafia.

                "Voi stupido…" he starts muttering under his breath.

                "How many?!" she yells, "How many went? And don't you dare lie to me."

                "Nine," the Mafia says, "And you aren't allowed to follow them. Not if I can help it."

                "Why not? They need to be protected."

                "No, it's the other way around, Calypsocita," the Conquistador says, "You are a nation. They aren't."

                New Rome muttered something under her breath that no one else in the room could hear. Then, as if getting an idea, she looks up at the Conquistador. "They have stories… histories that will fade if they are killed."

                "No, they won't," the Conquistador says very calmly, "You have them now. In here," he points at New Rome's chest, "You carry those histories, those stories now."

                "...I don't want them to die," New Rome says quietly.

                "…they've lived long enough," the Mafia says after a time, looking down at his own hands, "It's about time they passed on, isn't it? That we too pass on?"

                New Rome doesn't say anything on the matter. The Mafia knows why; even though her nation was formed from a will to create a new world, she still cannot let go of the past "It's about that request the Wiccan got a while ago, isn't it? The one with the watches."

                The Conquistador and the Mafia don't reply. They look at each other, trying to figure out what to say. "For the last time, where are they?" New Rome asks, but she is kinder about the delivery of it.

                "A small town in Vermont, USA," the Mafia says after a moment of silence, "Back before WWIII."

* * *

 

_Years in the Past in 1806_

                Italy sits by the side of the well, holding a silver pocket watch. It is odd; he woke up that day with it in his hand. He doesn't remember having it before… then again, his memory wasn't the greatest lately either.

                It is a beautiful day out. The sun is in the clear blue sky and there is a slight chill in the wind making the day comfortable. Italy had some time off today, and so is here, outside, some ways away from the house. He couldn't stay there. Not today, for it is HRE's birthday. Or it would be if he was home.

                Italy knows something bad has happened to HRE. He can feel it in his heart. Moreover, Austria has been more serious lately. He's stopped playing on his piano, one of Italy's joys of being in the house. Whenever Austria plays, the world around Italy vanishes to the melody of the twinkling notes.

                "Ah," Italy lets out. His hands go to his chest. There was a pain there, as if some object had stabbed him. 'Course, there is nothing there. 'What…?'

                He then realizes that in that second that he has dropped the watch. Without thinking at all, Italy goes for it. He jumps into the well to try to get the watch. Stupid idea, yes, but Italy was never known for his brilliant ideas.

                He expects to hit the water, but he never does. He just keeps falling and falling, getting closer to the watch. It starts to glow and a light came from it. The light engulfs Italy. He soon finds himself not falling anymore and in a completely different place. He is in a forest where sunlight can't find him because the trees are so close together.

                Italy stands up and looked around for any signs of a path or trail. None. He picks up the fallen watch and holds it close to her chest. There is a secret in this watch that Italy wanted to protect. He isn't sure what because he can't get the darned thing open no matter how hard he tried.

                He heard branches snapping and Italy looked towards the source to see a guy with white hair and violet eyes wearing a plain uniform on. On the collar of the uniform was a black cross.

                "Kesese, and what happened to you, Feliciano?" he asks with an amused look on his face.

                "Uhh..."

                "What? So lost in my awesomeness that you are at a loss for words? Not that I'm surprised."

                "Uhh…" Italy is shaking badly. Just who is this guy? And why does he keep calling him Feliciano?

                "Wait…" the albino kneels down to look at Italy, "You're not Feliciano, are you?"

                "No, I'm Italy."

                "Should have known by that outfit," the albino shakes his head and he laughs a little, "It's been a while since I've seen you this small."

                "Please… sir…" Italy starts to say, "Where am I?"

                "Not really sure. But don't worry. I'll figure it out; I'm awesome like that. Just stick with me, and you'll be ok. For I am the awesome Gilbert."

                Italy nods, though he still isn't sure about the albino. But anything is better than being alone.


	2. He's Having it There?

**(Present Day - A Few Days Before the World Meeting)**

                Abigail is by the docks, looking out at Boston harbor. Even after all of these years, she could still smell the ocean soaked tea she and Alfred (along with a bunch of other people) dumped into the harbor. That was a fun day. But today, Abigail looks out more of contemplation and delaying the inevitable meeting she has to attend.

                Her phone rang with a rock version of "These Green Mountains." Abigail took her cell phone out and double checked the caller id which read Vernon.

                "What's up, Vermont?" Abigail asks. Vernon doesn't like for being called by his human name. At one time, yes he did; it is an old name in the modern era, though.

                "Have you heard about the next world meeting?" he asks.

                "No. I usually have a bit more on my plate than worrying about international affairs. That's Alfred's job. It's this week, isn't it?"

                "Yes. He's having it at my place."

                Abigail takes the phone away from her ear for a second and looks at her cell phone. "Why? He usually has it over in D. C."

                "I know. What's more, he didn't ask me first. At all."

                "Why am I not surprised? Look, just chill, alright? These meetings only last about a week at most and nothing really happens with them. Be grateful you don't have to worry about figuring out where the Olympics are taking place."

                "I heard about that. What's so bad about having it in Boston?"

                Abigail turns at looked at the city. "You haven't been here recently, have you? The traffic here is wicked annoying on a good day. The Olympics would just make it worse. We literally have no room here."

                "London did it."

                "London is also bigger," Abigail says. She sighs, "Look, my point is don't worry about the meetings. If you are all that concerned about it, go talk to Alfred yourself."

                "Easier said than done," Vermont grumbles on the other side.

                "He's not that hard to get in contact with."

                "Yeah, but he talks at 100 mph like New York."

                Abigail smirks at this. "You got me there. Still, that is my advice. Take it or leave it."

                "...would you mind coming up for that week?"

                Abigail sighs in a slightly frustrated manner. "Depends if I'm still working with the Olympic problem. Probably not. I'll call you if I can make it."

                "Alright, thanks anyway."

                "See you." Abigail ends the call. Another world meeting in America. Normally, these things happen without too much excitement on the states' part. 'Just why is he doing this in Vermont of all places?' Abigail thought as she dialed up a number beginning with 603, the area code for New Hampshire.

                "Abby, something wrong?" Susan asks.

                "Not with me, no. It has to do with Vernon."

                "The world meeting? He's already talked about it to me."

                "It might be a good idea for you just to keep an eye on him. Some moral support, or something to that extent."

                "You're probably right. Good thing we're always together anyway. Will you be there?"

                "I have the Olympics on my plate, remember?"

                "That's right, good luck with that."

                'Good luck is right,' Abigail thought as she ended the call. Her phone beeped, indicating that she had received a text message. She looked down and noticed it was from Alfred.

                "Ran into problems. Get Arthur."

                Abigail rolls her eyes. She knew something like this was going to happen too, seeing as Alfred never keeps a schedule around with him, electronic or not. Seriously, he needs a keeper. "What time?" Abigail texts back.

                "Tomorrow. Noon."

                Abigail doesn't bother texting him back. No, she'll wait until the next time she sees Alfred to chew him out. The only reason she cares is because Alfred had been wanting to greet Arthur for this world meeting. That and she doesn't like playing bus boy.

                "Yo, Abby!"

                Abigail looks up. From across the way, she can see a normal looking guy with a cowboy hat on. His eyes are the giveaway: they are milky blue eyes. James; Abigail knew that this was James without a doubt. She shakes her head and joins with her colleague.

                "Is this more of the South moves as one thing?" she asks, flicking the hat upwards.

                "No, it's more of I just wanted to wear this today."

                "If I see South Carolina wear something similar, I will call bullshit on your comment."

                "Go right ahead; I dare you."

                "So what are you doing up here, anyway?” Abigail asks, “Not that I'm not happy to see you again, but I figured you have bigger fish to fry currently."

                "I do, but this is more of a break for me. I'm greeting a few of the nations coming in for the world meeting."

                "Alfred?"

                James nods his head in agreement, "A bit. He made it my business when he asked for some land from my territory for D. C. I've always been greeting nations into the country for world meetings. I'm just surprised it's taking place in Vermont. Any idea why?"

                "Ask him yourself. I know nothing of the matter. Is Mary coming up as well?"

                "Indeed. But the two of us are flying back tomorrow. So our stay isn't long."

                "You don't attend the meetings?"

                "That's Alfred's job, not mine. Not yet anyway." James says his last sentence in a forelorn way.

                ‘So, we’ve gotten back to this topic,’ Abigail thinks as she says, "So you think this country is going to fall?"

                "My people think so. I bet yours do too."

                Not everyone knows exactly of the problems that America is facing, however everyone knows that things have been getting worse over the years. The tipping point for the people is coming soon, and everyone can feel it. "…It's this system humans have set up for themselves. And in the end, it is us who are effected by it."

                "We've had a hand in its undoing as well."

                "Don't talk about it like it's going to happen. Who knows, maybe it can be avoided."

                James looks over at Abigail. "Do you actually believe that?"

                Abigail takes a deep breath to swallow her pride, "…no. I doubt any of us do."

                They stand there, looking out at the harbor. The wind from the ocean plays on their faces. James starts singing a sad ballad:

Momma, hey momma, come lookin' for me  
I'm here in the meadow by the red maple tree  
Momma, hey momma, look sharp, here I be  
Hey, hey, momma look sharp

                "Doing anything tonight?" Abigail asks after a time of staring at the harbor.

                "Not really. Why?"

                "Let's do dinner. The three of us. Since you are here."

                "Sure. Seven?"

                "Yep, usual place."

                "Until then, Mr. A." James grins and leaves Abigail on her own.

                "Until then, Mr. J," Abigail replies, more to herself than to James. She smiles for a moment; contrary to popular belief, she and James are good friends. No, they rarely see eye to eye on the political front, but they were the original colonies. And that is a bond that overlooks all their differences.

                Abigail's phone goes off again. She looks down and realizes it's another text from Alfred. She ignores it for the present moment, as she heads off into the heart of Boston. Time for the inevitable meeting about the Olympics. 

* * *

 

                Arthur looks out of the window of the plane as it descends into the airport. It has been a while since he has been in Boston, and this being the first time he has landed at this airport for a world meeting. Most of the time, he would be traveling further, going into the capital. But for some reason, Alfred wants to have it in a completely different area. Vermont, wherever that was. He figures it is close to the New England region.

                Once he gets off the plane, he is greeted not by Alfred, but instead by a peeved-looking Abigail.

                "Welcome to Boston," she says, being very reserved in her answer, "You can blame Alfred's incredible planning skills for the reason I'm here instead of him." She sounds slightly bitter about the whole ordeal.

                "Good to see you too, Abigail. Where is he then?"

                "Apparently, Kiku was coming in around the same time as you. Here, let's go."

                Abigail leads Arthur to a car. After Abigail pointed which side was Arthur's side, she starts driving.

                "So… it's been a while," Arthur states after some time of silence.

                "Yep," Abigail agrees.

                "How are things with you?"

                "Same old, same old, I guess," Abigail shrugs, "The water is still questionable and the people still stubborn."

                "I heard that the Olympic committee is thinking about having the Olympics in Boston next."

                "Yeah… I still don't know how the hell they are going to manage it, but it's looking like it might actually happen. Boston is now on the candidate list."

                Arthur looks outside of the window. "The streets look the same."

                "They haven't changed much." Silence. "What about you? I know all about the dissolution. How are you holding up with that?"

                "What do you mean? I'm fine."

                Abigail rolls her eyes, "Sure, and Alfred hates hamburgers. I know there were some problems; Alfred was going on and on about you being a stubborn idiot."

                "It's something I'd rather remain in the family."

                "Well, that puts me in an awkward position," Abigail states.

                "And why's that?"

                "If we want to get into technical terms, we are related."

                Arthur does not say anything to this. She is right, but he still doesn’t want to admit his failure.

                "Alright, if you aren't going to tell me, I'll just stick to my theory of what happened."

                "And what may that be?" Arthur asks.

                "That you almost died."

                If Arthur had been drinking tea, he would have spit it out at that comment. "How the bloody hell did you figure that out?"

                "Simple. Alfred looks up to you. He'd be pissed if you tried to do something damaging to your health."

                "Great…"

                "So I am right? Yes?"

                "Yes," Arthur groans.

                Abigail shakes her head, "So you aren't perfect, big deal. Don't play the untouchable superhero; I already have enough of that from Alfred's front."

                Arthur starts to object, saying that he wasn't, but he stops as he realizes that is exactly what he is playing. Of course, he calls it being a gentleman, but in the end it really is the same thing.

                The car comes to a sudden stop, jerking both Abigail and Arthur forward a bit, but Abigail was more prepared for the sudden halt.

                "What was that?" Arthur asks, but it was clear that Abigail wasn't listening. She is looking at a guy who is running away from the street.

                "Italians. The lot of them," she mutters angrily as she starts driving again.

                "What just happened?" Arthur asks.

                "That guy just ran out in the middle of the street."

                "And you know he's Italian because…"

                Abigail glances at Arthur for a moment in confusion, "What, you can't tell who has what nationality? I thought all nations could. All of us states can."

                Arthur just kind of looks at Abigail.

                "Obviously not. Moving on."

                "…can Alfred do that?" Arthur asks slowly.

                "Well, now that I know not everyone can, I have no idea."

                "…what is the point of having it anyway?" Arthur asks, "I find no use for it."

                "Maybe you don't. For us, it makes it easier to communicate to other people. If they don't know English, we simply switch languages."

                "Switch languages? You mean you actually know more than just our language and English?"

                "Yeah, it comes from being a place born from the idea of diversity. I'm strongest with Spanish, but I know most common languages. Recently, I've been needing Portuguese more often."

                "I wouldn't think that any of you would have the ability."

                "Just because Alfred can't doesn't mean it is the same for the rest of us. He is the whole of the United States; we are the parts, meaning the smaller things affect us more."

                "I see…" Arthur never realized that things would be different with the states. If it wasn't for the involvement of Abigail and the other colony personifications, he would have never known that the individual states even were personified. Alfred certainly never talks about it.

                Abigail pulls the car to the side and puts it in park. "Alfred will be meeting you here later. Just give him his name at the front desk and you'll be fine. You have my permission to slap him upside the head."

                "Like I'm ask you for permission to do that anyway," Arthur grumbles.

                "I hope all goes well at the meetings."

                "So then you aren't going to be there."

                "I'm never invited. Anyway, I'm busy enough here as it is. I wish you well in your travels. Maybe we'll see each other again soon."

                "Maybe," Arthur says, though he doubts it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did put in references to the movie/play 1776. Really good movie for those who haven't seen it. The song is "Mamma, Look Sharp" for those who want to look it up. As a personal headcannon of mine, the states really like watching films about their formation (like 1776 and Hamilton). Alfred gets annoyed by it because they will quote from these things all the time. Repetition can get quite annoying after a while.


	3. From Future Visions

**(In the Distant Future)**

                Celtic Isles finishes the base of the spell circle as the doors of the room were knocked open and her rival, New Rome enters the room. Out of habit, Celtic Isles pulls out the dagger she always keeps with her. An ancient weapon, yes, but one that was given to her by her father, someone she looked up to. It is like a piece of him is always by her whenever she carries the weapon around.

                "Celty, put it down," New Rome says, groaning a bit, "We need to talk."

                "It's polite to knock before entering a locked room," Celtic Isles says, standing up and closing her spell book. She keeps her dagger out though, "What if I was changing?"

                "Please, we're both girls," New Rome says, rolling her eyes.

                "You sound very positive about that." Celtic Isles says.

                "Shut it, this is important. And will you put that thing away? I'm not going to try anything. The Resistance is in trouble."

                Celtic Isles raises an eyebrow. "They are always in trouble. Their sole purpose in their lives right now is to get into trouble. What's your point?"

                "They've gone back in time."

                Celtic Isles looks at New Rome; her grip on the dagger tightens. "They wouldn't. The Wiccan knows the dangers of time travel better than anyone."

                "But they have."

                "Alright, fine. Why come to me?"

                "Can you send me back there too?"

                "To hell I would. First off, we aren't even supposed to be talking together." Celtic Isles points the dagger at New Rome's heart for emphasis.

                "But we are." New Rome gives her annoying smile that reads nothing-is-wrong-at-all. Celtic Isles is still wondering where New Rome got that smile from.

                Celtic Isles sheathes her dagger. "Even if we were actually friends, I still have no idea about time travel. It was something the Wiccan never taught me."

                New Rome takes out a book that has a cross on the front. "This might help."

                "What is that?"

                "The secret to time travel in the words of Feliciano Vargas," New Rome says, grinning.

                "…you're kidding, right?" Celtic Isles had heard the Wiccan talking about the book now in New Rome's hands. It is supposed to have an account of a hell-like place (if it wasn’t hell itself). The Wiccan did not say much about what happened in the place, except for the fact that it brought everyone involved close to their breaking points. 'It must have been brutal if time travel was involved,' Celtic Isles thinks as she looks at the book.

                "Would I lie about something like that? When I invaded his land, this was one of the first treasures I found. I was asked by the Illuminati to not show it to anyone, but time now calls for desperate measures. I've tried to use the spell myself, but…"

                "You can't use  _that_  magic, can you?" Celtic Isles has seen New Rome use magic before. She also knows that New Rome's style of magic leans more towards light magic rather than dark magic. An effect of being from a region that used to worship light.

                "No… and it sucks."

                "I bet it does." Celtic Isles cannot help but smirk; she can do something her rival cannot. No, the Celtic Isles has never used time travel, but she can use dark magic because of the training she did under the Wiccan. "I still won't do it. They may think it's alright to go back to the past, but we don't have any business to go there. So no."

                "But…"

                The doors bust open again and a guy in neo-tartan clothing rushes in. Celtic Isles grimeses at the sight.

                "My God, does no one knock anymore. Especially you, Skyeland," Celtic Isles says, drawing her dagger out once again and pointing it at Skyeland, "What are you even doing in my country anyway?"

                "It's Pætria. He's disappeared."

                "What?" Celtic Isles almost drops her dagger. Someone as huge as Pætria doesn't just disappear; he is basically ruler of the world, he can't just simply hide.

                "He took the special forces with him. And there's one other thing."

                "What's that?"

                "I found this…" Skyeland hands Celtic Isles a USB.

                Celtic Isles takes it and puts it into her computer. As she waits for it to load, Skyeland turns to New Rome.

                "I wasn't expecting you to be here," he says to New Rome.

                "Me neither, until yesterday," New Rome replies.

                "Are your bodyguards around?" Skyeland asks, smirking a bit.

                "…like I asked them to be in the first place," New Rome scowls.

                Celtic Isles looks at the information in front of her once it pulls up. "These are calculations," Celtic Isles stated, "What's so special about them?"

                "Keep scrolling," Skyeland says, "There's something more of your speed as you go along."

                Celtic Isles slowly turns to look at Skyeland. "What do you mean, more my speed?"

                "What can I say, you're old-fashioned." Skyeland shrugs.

                Celtic Isles groans, but says nothing more. She keeps scrolling. The information in front of her soon changes to spells. 'What the…' she stops at a picture of a spell circle. "He can use magic?"

                "I have no clue."

                "…this is more of Panca's style, though. She must have been the one to write it. I don't recogn…" Celtic Isles continues on and stops talking. There was a date, time, and place. Not of the future, but of the past.

                "They must have gone back in time too," New Rome says nervously, "Whatever the Wiccan made, it must be powerful."

                Celtic Isles just looks at the information in front of her. 'Why would anyone go into the past? What could come from it? Unless…' The truth suddenly came crashing down on her. 'No… he wouldn't' "New Rome, what did the Wiccan do exactly?"

                "He was asked to make something and so he made these watches. I was with him when he made one of them. He put some spell on them, but he didn't tell me what it was."

                'He would…' "Change of plans." Celtic Isles pulls out an old fashioned mobile phone and creates a group text. Most everyone makes fun of her for the phone, but this little device can send messages under the scanning radar and without Pætria noticing. Which has helped the Revolutionaries so much with connecting.

                "What are you doing?" Skyeland says.

                "If Pætria finds out the Resistance has gone back as well, no doubt he'll get reinforcements. The Resistance may be strong, but they cannot take on Paetra's full army."

                "So we are going to save them?" New Rome asks hopefully.

                "Wrong. It doesn't matter if they die or not. What matters is the mission they have encountered on gets completed. Do you know what it is?"

                "…no, but I think I can convince the Mafia and the Conquistador to tell me."

                "Really?" Skyeland looks shaken.

                "Don't doubt me, Skya," New Rome says forcefully, whacking Skyeland in the back of the head. Skyeland cannot help but grin a bit at the nickname; it's from a story they all read when they were younger.

                "I'm calling the rest of the revolutionaries here. Once we are gathered, we can come up with an actual plan."

                "All of them?"

                "Yes. This is going to turn into war."

                "How do you know?" New Rome asks.

                "I've seen bits and pieces of the future," Celtic Isles states simply, "I knew a war for freedom was coming. I wasn't expecting it to turn out in this way. But if Wales taught me one thing, it was that the future always comes in the way we least expect it."

* * *

 

**(Present Day - One Day Before the World Meeting)**

_You must know you are weak. There is no way you can fight me and win. Surrender, and I'll see to it that the land is preserved. Resist, and I will tear your pathetic country apart._

                Dylan stands up quickly out of panic. He takes quick breaths as he readjusts to his actual surroundings before sitting back down again. Allistor looks over to him with an eyebrow raised.

                "Something wrong?" he asks.

                Dylan takes a moment to regain his breath before answering. "…it's these visions. They are becoming more numerous. Something is going to happen soon."

                "Something bad? It's always something bad."

                "Yes… though I have no idea what it is. At all." It's true. His visions keep changing from seeing his country being torn to shreds in front of his very eyes to those about the timestones. There was one time he saw a timestone being completely destroyed to shards. Once in a while he would see Arthur, Alfred, and a few others as children again.

                Allistor actually smiles. "So, for once we are all on the same page. About time."

                Dylan looks at Allistor for a moment. It's not in a mean way he says this, so Dylan doesn't retort back. There is no need to start a quarrel, especially during a World Meeting session. "I don't like being in the dark," Dylan says, more to himself than to Allistor.

_"Wales, I'm scared," a young England asks, looking up to his older brother, "Are we going to die?"_

_Dylan looks around the room, where most nations are standing around. None of them give him a confident answer. Slowly, Dylan kneels down to the ground, "No, we aren't going to die. I'll protect you as I have always done."_

_"You can't," one of the nations in the room says, though Wales doesn't recognize this one, "If you face Pætria, you'll probably die. He has weapons to kill nations, and so do the nations that support him."_

_Dylan stands up and looks at this nation. Her face is full of concern and fear. Her clothing is patterned with the tartan of Scotland. "I won't hide in fear," Dylan says firmly._

                "I'm back!" Spéir says as the door closes behind him, drawing Dylan out of his vision, "And look who I found! It's Canada!"

                Standing next to Spéir is Matthew, who is holding his polar bear, Kumajiro. The bear looks up at Matthew and asked, "Who?"

                "Matthew," the nation explains. The bear nods as if in understanding; which is weird considering Kumajiro always forgot Matthew's nation name.

                "It has been a while," Dyaln says, standing up, "How have you been?"

                "Not bad," Matthew says, "Things haven't been too busy lately, so I can't complain. You?"

                "Things have finally settled down. I'm glad for that much. Still working on your magic?"

                Matthew nods, "I practice when I can, though it isn't often."

                "Something is better than nothing."

                "You look pale," Spéir states, "Is something wrong?"

                "I'm alright," Dylan says, but as he says it, another vision appears.  _Wales, calm down. We can't do anything if you don't tell us what's going on. God, I've never seen you this scared before._

                "He's been like that for most of the day," Allistor says, "Something is bound to happen soon, or he might just lose it."

                "I won't lose it," Dylan says simply, blocking out the vision, "I have seen worse and have kept my sanity."

                "Like what?" Allistor asks.

                Dylan gives Allistor a look in hopes that his brother would back off. Of course, Allistor doesn't get scared easily.

                "You do look awful, though," Matthew says, "You should get some rest."

                Dylan looks at Matthew, "I'm afraid it may not do much good, but I'll try."

_That nation that completely destroyed France. She's here._

_Dylan._

_Seamus, we're next. We have no allies except for ourselves. Even with our armies uniting, there just isn't enough to even think about defending ourselves._

**_Dylan_ ** _._

_We're going to die._

**Dylan, get a hold of yourself.**

                Dylan blinks and sees his Seamus grabbing hold of his shoulders and looking at Dylan in the eyes. "I'm dead serious this time. You need help."

                "What help is there for me? You understand this better than anyone." Both Dylan and Seamus have power gifts they cannot control well; Dylan sees glimpses of the future while Seamus relives the past.

                "Aye, I do, which is why I'm the only one who can tell you that you need help. Take one of pills."

                "I don't..."

                "I'm your elder. Listen to me. Just take one tonight, alright? If it doesn't work, then fine. If it does, you get one night's rest of unbroken sleep; about time considering the meetings start tomorrow."

                In Seamus' hand is one of the pills Antonio made for all the nations to use. It acts as a sleeping pill for the nations, since no normal pills work. Dylan takes it cautiously. Seamus then proceeded to sit Dylan on one of the beds in the room. "Sleep. No one is going to attack you. No one is certainly going to get past us four."

                Dylan notices for the first time that Arthur is in the room, looking on at this scene. His face shows a reserved concern. "He's right," Arthur says, "And we aren't kids anymore. We know when to give you your space."

                Dylan breathes for a moment.

_He looks up at the stranger in the black cloak, the mask this stranger wore now being held in Dylan's hands. It is a mask that once plagued all of Europe and to this day still instills fear into all who look upon it. The stranger's face is nothing like the mask. His face is kind, but war-worn. "I know your face," Dylan states with some amount of confusion._

_"Please, don't tell them."_

_"Alright, only because it's you." He hands the mask back to the stranger._

                Dylan takes the pill and lies down on the bed. It doesn't take long for him to fall asleep. Though as he falls unconscious, he sees one last vision.

_This isn't forever, Dylan. We have a force on our side. Her name is Leanna. She is the Guardian of the Celtic Isles. She will free us and we will become nations again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did put in a Homestuck reference. Cookies to those who realized that while reading.  
> I feel a bit bad for making Dylan go through all that... but it's way too much fun playing around with his gift of foresight. Sorry Dylan. I should also note that the visions are meant to be confusing, as so that it puts you in Dylan's shoes.


	4. Distributing the Watches part 2

**(So... we know what happens to Italy with his watch. Let's see what happens with England...)**

                England swings his sword around, trying to get used to its weight. France is nearby, watching with some amusement. "How can anyone fight with these things?" England says after a long time and throws the sword to the ground, "Magic is much easier to use."

                France rolls his eyes. "Well, not everyone is like you, Angleterre. No one else can use magic, so we have swords."

                "I know, but why do I have to use one as well?"

                France chuckles a bit, "It makes you look normal. Besides, you don't look half bad in armor."

                Indeed, England is not in his usual attire of a green cloak. Instead, he was in knight's armor. He hates it; it's too hot and heavy. Maybe if he goes to war with it he'll find some use for it, but in the current moment, he hates it. England doesn't reply to France; he picks up the sword and hands it back to the Frenchman. "I'm done."

                France doesn't take the weapon. "No, it is yours. Think of it as a gift."

                "I don't want it, least of all from you."

                "Then do with it as you wish. I'll see you later, Angleterre."

                France leaves England to himself. England has half a mind to throw it in a lake and just leave it there. Then an idea strikes him. "Gecræftge anweald beaduléoma." The sword starts glowing emerald green. England aimed the tip of sword at a nearby rock. "Ádfýr." A fire ball shoots out of the tip and hit the rock. Nothing is set aflame, because... well, it's a rock. All the same, England grins. "Maybe not so useless after all," he says outloud to himself as he sheathes the sword.

                England walks to his little spot in the forest, where Wales is sitting by the bank of the pond. "What are you doing here?" England asks, joining Wales. He has learned by now that Wales will find him anywhere, so never to question how Wales finds him.

                "It's something I saw last night. It concerns you, though I don't know what it means." Wales looks at the sword that England is carrying. "Where did you get that?"

                "Stupid Frenchman."

                "You spend a lot of time with him."

                "Like it's my idea," England says sarcastically.

                Wales takes out a paper and stands up. "If this object comes across your travels, get rid of it."

                England looks at the paper. On it is a circular object on a chain. The design is something England has seen before; indeed, the object on the paper is one that he carries now. "Why? What's so dangerous about it?"

                "It's the magic that is infused with it."

                England takes it out and Wales eyes grow wide. "You already have it?"

                "I found it this morning. It's funny though, I feel as if I have had it for a long time." England opens it and shows it to Wales, "But it doesn't have any magic. It doesn't do anything except tick."

                Wales looks at the picture. No doubt he too is confused by it. It's a picture of England, except older, with France and two others who England has never seen before. England gives props to the artist for making this picture look so lifelike. "It still has magic. Though I have no idea…"

                The watch starts glowing flowery gold in front of England and he drops it on the ground.

                "Please, don't touch it."

                England looks at the watch. He knows to trust Wales, but he also can't help but feel that he should take the watch.

                "So this is where you two are," North Ireland says from out of nowhere. Wales and England turn to look at him and his brother. "What's that?"

                Without a second thought, England picks up the watch and draws out his sword, ready for what ever is going to happen. Wales, for once, breaks his face of complete composer. He looks terrified. "England!"

                "Whatever it is, Wales, I can handle it. I'm not a child anymore."

                Wales starts to say something, but a light takes over England and he finds himself in a different forest. The trees in this forest are different from where he last was; they have a distinct smell. It smells nice, but it isn't home. All is quiet, which gives England an eerie feeling. He sheathes his sword and starts walking.

                He doesn't get far when he hears someone speak in the language of nations. "I am going to kill her when we find her."

                England hides behind a tree and looks to where the voice came from. It is a cloaked man, and with him is another cloaked man. The style of the cloaks are different, but all the same England cannot see their faces.

                "Don't be so harsh. You would have done the same thing at that age."

                "Would not."

                "If it was Illuminati, you would."

                "No, I leave him be to do as he wishes. I respect that."

                "When you were Calypsocita's age, you wouldn't."

                The one in the plain cloak looks over at England's direction. England hides behind the tree again, hoping that he was not seen.

                "Hold up, I think I saw someone."

                England draws out his newly enchanted sword. He is not going to go down without a fight. Once the one called Mafia comes close enough, England comes out of his hiding place and charges. Really stupid decision for he is easily countered by a simple freezing spell. One that traps him in a bubble.

                "Oye ve," the one called Mafia says. Up close, England notices that this individual is masked, "It seems like the Wiccan's watches worked."

                "And you doubted they would?" the companion asks.

                The Mafia ignores the question. "Promise not to run and I'll let you go," the Mafia says.

                "And if I refuse?" England challenges.

                "I think I have an idea," the companion says. He breaks through the bubble and takes the object that got England in this mess. He twisted something on the top of the object, then hands it back to England. The Mafia disenchants the spell and England falls back to the ground. He feels weaker and smaller.

                "How did you know to do that?" The Mafia asks

                "The Wiccan asked for some ideas for the watches."

                "What did you do to me?" England asks, and was caught off guard by the sound of his voice long enough for the companion to pick him up.

                "Don't worry, little Inglaterra. We aren't going to kill you. We're here to save you."

                England highly doubts that, but what choice does he have now except to go along with what was happening before him.

* * *

 

**(Switch to France)**

                France finds Joan some distance from the camp, swinging a sword around. France sighs and walks up to her. "You know, a woman shouldn't be holding a sword."

                "A woman shouldn't be near battle, but here I am. If I'm going to be out here, I might as well learn how to defend myself."

                "Very well, mademoiselle, shall I teach you then?"

                "Only if you will take me seriously."

                "But I do. You must be thinking of some of the other men. I am not like them. Come," France draws out his sword, "Show me how you fight."

                They practice with the swords for a long time. For a woman who has never used a sword before, Joan is very good. A skilled sword-fighter, too bad she was born a woman and humans never look beyond that.

                "Well done," France says after their session.

                "Tell me, why do you help me?"

                France smiles, "It's because I like you."

                "Many think that what I am doing is wrong."

                "But if it is the will of God, so be it. Besides, I know of someone else in a similar position."

                "Really?"

                France nods. Of course, he has Hungary in mind. Not many know that she is actually a woman, but France has known for a long time. He also promised not to tell anyone, but he figures another woman would understand. "You should head back. No doubt the Duke is looking for you."

                Joan nods and stands up. "The Duke is probably looking for you too."

                "And he can wait for me."

                "You are usually by his side. Why?"

                France winks, "That is another story for a different day."

                "Tomorrow then," Joan says before heading back to the camp.

                France stays there for a long time, just looking at the path Joan takes to get back to the camp. There is something about her that France loves; probably her spirit. It is something he can get behind. She is going to be a great person.

                He starts to head back to the camp when all of a sudden he isn't in the forest anymore. France blinks a few times and looks at his surroundings. There are buildings everywhere, but they are nothing like the ones France has ever seen before. They are… dull, yet impressive. It doesn't make sense to France either.

                "Eh?" a voice says. France looks around to find a soldier decked out in red with an odd looking brown hat. This person also has aviator glasses, which he has taken off to show off his violet-blue eyes. "You are France, right?"

                "Oui?" France says slowly, "And who might you be?"

                "I am the Mountie, at your service," the soldier takes a bow, "Man, it's been a while since I've seen you with so much hope."

                "What?"

                "Nothing. Forget I said anything." The Mountie pulls out a peculiar object, one similar to the one that France had found earlier that day. "Do you have something like this?"

                France nods and takes it out. It's an odd object; there's a picture inside it that is weird. It's of himself, except older, with England, Spain, Prussia, and two other boys who France has never seen before. Actually, one of the boys looks a lot like the Mountie, except that the Mountie's face has scars on his face that split his face into three sections. "Do you know what this is?"

                "Yes, it's called a watch. It was very popular at one point in time. Not anymore in my time; they are an antique."

                "What do you mean, your time? Where am I?"

                The Mountie looks around, "Judging from the looks of things… Vermont. Always liked the guy. His maple syrup isn't too bad. Not as good as mine. Anyway, we got to get moving. There's some people who want to kill you."

                "Not you?"

                "No, not me. I'm here to protect you. Now, how fast can you run?"

                "As fast as I need to," France states, with the determination that has won him many battles in the past, "Just tell me where."

* * *

 

**(Switch to Canada)**

                Canada watches the rain fall from his window. It has been some time since England lost the war and England's mood has only recently lightened up. Canada's, on the other hand, has been declining as of late. The constant rain that has been happening this whole week isn't helping with that either. Canada still isn't sure how he feels about America's independence.

                "Are you alright, Canada?" England asks coming into the room with a tray of tea.

                "It's this rain," Canada says.

                "I can understand that," England says, pouring some tea, "But I think it's going to let up soon. It's not coming down as hard. Tea?"

                Canada nods and joins England on the couch.

                "Once this lets up, I'll be planning the trip home. I'm giving you the choice to either come with me or stay here."

                "What?" Canada asks, startled.

                "You're older now, so you should be fine living in your own land. You have a few days to think about it. In the end, it's all up to you."

                Canada can feel himself shaking. How can he leave England? Yet at the same time, he can finally be able to truly explore his land. "I'll be back," Canada says, standing up.

                "Where are you going?"

                "Maple."

                "Right. Forgot."

                Canada goes into the other room and looks down at the watch he found in his hand that morning. It is an odd thing, Canada has no memory of seeing it before, yet he has grown attached to it. He opens the watch and looks at the picture inside. It is of himself, alone, but looking proud and strong. Canada closes the watch. To be bold, to stand out; that is more of America's thing. The more Canada thinks about it, the more he realizes how little of himself he can actually identify on his own. Canada collapses to his knees; he feels utterly helpless in the face of everything.

                "Canada?" England asks, entering the room. He stops and a look of horrific surprise appears on his face. Canada looks down at his hands and realizes the watch is glowing.

                "What the…" Canada begins to mutter as the light begins to grow, completely surrounding him. The next thing he sees is a dark room with no windows. And by dark, it's implied that Canada cannot see anything.

                "Hello?" Canada asks uncertainly in the darkness.

                No reply, just muffled voices far away. Canada pockets the watch and stands up slowly. He feels for a wall, and one is there right in front of him, along with some shelves. He is in a closet somewhere. Canada tries to find a door; he only succeeds in finding a wall without shelves.

                "Hello?" Canada calls out again, a bit louder, "Is anyone there?"

                "I agree with Matthew. I can hear someone there."

                The wall opens up and light floods into the closet, blinding Canada for a moment. When his eyes adjust, he cannot believe who is in front of him, looking at him with concern.

* * *

 

**(Switch to America)**

                America walks though the blood stained battle field. Many of the men have been taken for treatment, the survivors at any rate. His job at the current moment is finding unused bullets. He isn't the only one searching out here either.

                "Sir, is this what war is like?" West Virginia asks.

                "Yeah, and can you stop calling me sir? You can call the general sir. I'm just America, or Alfred, as some of the others like calling me."

                "Alright, America. How hopeless is this fight right now? Because right now, it's looking pretty grim." She doesn't look completely scared; she just looks concerned.

                Before America can answer, a person comes into view. America raises up his rifle. "Identify yourself!" he shouts angrily, glad that he can let out some of his steam. This whole war is getting under his skin. Lincoln won't acknowledge the confederates to be a separate country, which makes the situation for America twice as painful. He is fighting his own people, yet not at the same time. If only he could get Lincoln to understand the situation, America wouldn't have to feel as torn.

                "Oh, America, would you shoot me?" the voice asks in a malicious tone.

                "Yes, I would, Confederate. No second thoughts. Leave, and I will shoot." America can feel the training that he had with Prussia during his revolution start to kick in.

                "Tsk tsk tsk," Confederate says, coming up to America, "Unlike you, I am unarmed. And you are in my territory. I can give the order to shoot you with the snap of my fingers."

                West Virginia gets behind America in a timid fashion. No doubt she is terrified now. America had her pulled out of the confederacy, and to that she was grateful.

                "Aw, is the little bastard state scared?" Confederate asks.

                America points the gun at Confederate's heart. "Stay away from her."

                "Oh, I will," Confederate pulls out a sword, "As long as you will fight me in return. I know you have a sword on you."

                America stares hard at Confederate, then gives the gun to West Virginia and pulls out his own sword. "Go back to the camp and tell New Hampshire to come find me if I don't return in half an hour."

                West Virginia nods and heads back. "I promise I won't kill you…" Confederate says, "Yet. I'll leave that for an actual battle."

                Fury engulfs America. It is a blinding rage, one he never felt before. Not even during his revolution; at least then he still respected England, somewhat. America charges at Confederate and they fight. The clashing swords and their ragged breaths are all America can hear for a long time. After a bit, Confederate seems to have enough of the fight. He manages to take America's glasses and stabs America deep in the stomach. America cries out in pain and falls helplessly to the ground.

                "Looks like I win. Funny, I would have thought you would have seen my obvious openings for an attack. You are as blind as a bat even with your glasses." Confederate curls up his hand holding America's glasses, breaking the glasses in the process. He lets the pieces fall to the ground.

                If America wasn't stuck with a sword at that moment, he would have strangled Confederate right there and then.

                "Now, winner gets a prize, no? Let's see… a pocket watch."

                Confederate touches the watch in America's breast pocket. America grabs Confederate's hand, and holds it in midair. "Leave me alone!" America says threateningly.

                "Fine. I will leave you here to die. Wounds inflicted by a nation are more deadly than human ones just so you know. You better hope you can last."

                Confederate walks away, leaving America on his own. America takes out the watch and looks at the picture inside. It's of him, along with some other nations he recognizes. Of course he's in the middle, but older. He is not sure why this watch as a picture like this; he only found it that morning when he woke up for battle. But he knows that it is important.

                "Please," he says out loud as his vision starts to cloud, "If you can actually do something useful than just keep time, do it."

                After a few more moments, America passes out. Just as he does so, the watch starts glowing flowery gold, and the light of that soon engulfs America whole and transports him away from the battlefield.

* * *

 

**(Switch to Russia)**

                Russia, once again, journeys through his land to find sunflowers. They are hard to find because of all the snow. But Russia has seen them. Once, though he forgets where he found them before.

                The object he found this morning is ticking away in his jacket pocket. It is a strange thing; he found it in his jacket this morning but had no memory of putting it there. When he opened the object, there was a picture inside of him with people he either vaguely recognized, or not at all; except for England, he recognized England. Russia smiles at the thought of England; he was a funny guy. His magic is very different from Russia's. It must be the difference in culture.

                Russia stops at a clearing in the forest. At the center is snow, obviously, but there is a patch of green. Russia goes over to the patch and starts clearing the snow away. All of it is just grass; Russia figures he can plant sunflowers here when he finds some.

                Suddenly, he sees a soft glow on the snow, the source being from that object. The light coming from it suddenly overtakes him and he finds himself in a completely different place.

                He is in a town, though there are no people around. There is no snow either and the sun is shining brightly. Russia doesn't recognize the place at all and figures he is in a different country. Russia looks at the object; he had thought it was weird.

                "Hey, look, I found one!"

                Russia turns to see who is speaking. It is a person in strange looking clothes, all black except for the area of their chest where there was some color representing a flag. It was red and blue, with a giant star in the middle. "It's ok, little guy, I don't bite."

                Normally, Russia would try to be friendly, but he isn't in his own country and that makes him a bit fearful. So he does as any other normal person would: run.

                "Wait!" the girl calls out, "Mierda."

                Russia doesn't look back until he reaches the forest. There, he stops and looks at his surroundings. Like almost sensing his surroundings, using a spell he made himself. There are people in the trees, though none close to Russia. That girl Russia saw is running up to him. She has no weapon drawn, meaning she probably just wants to talk. Russia waits for her to catch up.

                "Please, don't run again. There are people here who want to kill you. I'm a friend, even if I don't look it." The girl looks at the flag and presses it down more; it is almost as if the flag is covering something else.

                "Who are they?"

                "Soldiers of a really bad nation. He doesn't care about his people, nor the people of other nations, and for that reason he needs to be stopped."

                "Who is this nation?" Russia asks curiously.

                "You wouldn't know him, but his name is Pætria."

                "And who are you?"

                "Oh, sorry. I haven't introduced myself. I am Archila, but my friends call me Racío."

                "I'm Russia."

                "Why don't we go back to my group? They can explain things better than I can."

* * *

 

**(Switch to Japan)**

                Japan sits in the middle of the forest alone, sitting on his knees in meditation. Many countries have been bothering him about opening his country up for trade. He cannot see the good in any of that really. He would rather just stay in his country without anyone talking to him.

                After some time, he takes out the object that he found in his hand this morning. He heard someone once say it is a pocket watch, a timekeeper that is very popular in the western civilizations. Japan opens it up for the first time.

                There is a picture on one side that has his face along with two other people who he has never met. They are circled around a tea set from his country. One of the people has this beaming smile on his face while the other has a more reserved smile. Japan, in the picture, is also smiling.

                'Just who would paint something like this?' is Japan's first thought. Japan never really thought about being happy with other people. They always seem to be more trouble than they are worth. 'How did someone even paint this?' The picture almost seems life like, as if a moment in time has been taken and put to paper. Impossible, in which case Japan gives the artist much credit in his craft.

                Japan's focus is drawn to the timepiece of this pocket watch. At the center of it is this glowing golden bit that seems to shine. Japan pokes it, not exactly sure of what it is. The golden piece suddenly expands at a rapid speed and completely surrounds Japan. Out of confusion, Japan stands up.

                Once he is fully up, he finds himself in a different sort of forest. There is a different smell and look within this forest. Japan wishes he had his katana with him, at this current moment, he is completely unarmed.

                "Hey, look! It's Kiku! Hey, Kiku!" a voice says.

                Japan turns slowly to see a guy much taller than himself in a brown, thick jacket and glasses. He is waving like crazy and it is honestly scaring Japan.

                "Will you stop acting like an idiot, you hamburger bastard?" a shorter, but louder individual says, tackling the first person's arm.

                Japan feels a blade come up to his neck. "Don't move," it says menacingly.

                Japan knows he only has seconds to come up with a way to escape. This is why he finds others to be more trouble than they are worth.

* * *

 

**(Switch to China)**

                China journeys on a path the dragon showed him some time ago, when he was first told that he was an immortal. That was a very long time ago. Today, China is on a mission to find the missing cauldrons. They had gone missing some time ago, and China feels it is about time for them to be recovered. No one knows where they could have gone, so China has taken it upon himself to find out.

                As he walks past the fields, China looks out at the people there. Immortal. At first, he did not believe it when the dragon told him that he was one of the immortals. But as the years rolled by and China never grew any older, he started believing the dragon. For the longest time, he had thought he was the only one. That also isn't true, and China knows that now. Still, it is a very lonely existence being immortal with no one close by to share it with. The dragon did say that China could choose someone to share it with, but China still isn't sure how to do that. He believes that the dragon just said that to irritate China, which very well could be. The dragon has a very sassy attitude.

                After a time of walking on the road, China sits down by the side and pulls out the mystical object he found that morning. He still has yet to figure out what exactly it is; it makes a noise that he has never heard before. And the material for this object… no doubt it is from the heavens.

                It suddenly starts glowing gold. China drops it out of surprise. It is official, it is from the heavens. The gold light makes a sort of bubble around the object. Tentatively, China reaches out to touch the bubble. Nothing happens. He then goes to grab the object. As he holds it in his hands, the golden light surrounds him and he finds himself in completely new surroundings.

                China stands up. It is a forest, but one that he has never seen before. He is in awe, which is impressive in itself since he has been in the presence of dragons. China looks at the object in his hand. Just what did this object do?

                China hears a snapping sound behind him and he turns around quickly. There are people in strange clothing coming towards him. They are loud; China can hear their voices very clearly even thought they are very far away. They are nations, for they are speaking in the nation dialect.

                Quickly, China goes over to the nearest tree and climbs it. As he does so, the group reaches his tree. He reaches out to another branch, but it cracks and he falls into the group, on top of another person.

                "What the..."

                China quickly draws out his sword. "Who are you?" he says, fiercely. Then he notices one person in the group that makes him slowly lower his sword.

* * *

 

**(Switch to Holy Roman Empire)**

                Holy Roman Empire tries to keep calm as he surveys the plans for the next battle. He can feel himself slowly die from the inside. He has known for a while that this war was going to do him some damage; now it has gotten to the point where he believes this will be his end.

                Furious with himself, he takes his hat and sword and leaves his tent. He needs air. He needs comfort. He needs… Italy. But that is not going to happen any time soon, since she was nowhere near the battle field. Good thing too, considering how it is going.

                As Holy Roman Empire walks, he notices that a strange light takes over his vision. He stops. As suddenly as it appears, it disappears once again, leaving Holy Roman Empire in a completely new place. Holy Roman Empire finds himself in a forest. 'Odd,' he thinks slowly as he looks at his new surroundings. He knows he has never been in these woods before, so he clearly was in a different country all together. But where is the question at hand?

                In front of him, Holy Roman Empire sees an individual running up to him. This person is masked with a black and gold mask, dressed in a matching cloak. In this person's right hand is a bloodied white flag. "Holy Rome!" this person calls out, "Don't move!"

                Holy Roman Empire obeys, more out of confusion than anything else. This person leaps into the air and strikes a hidden person down and stabs them in the heart with the pointy end of the flag's pole. The person takes the pole out of the newly decided person's chest and sheathes it.

                "Who are you?" Holy Roman Empire asks, "And how do you know me?"

                "I am called the Illuminati," this person replies, "And I have met you before. I cannot tell you any more than that, so please don't ask. I'm tasked to protect you from those who are trying to kill you."

                "I'm going to die anyway," Holy Roman Empire states, "What is your point?"

                "…so it is that time, then?" the Illuminati says, more to himself than to Holy Roman Empire, "Are you in shape to fight?"

                Holy Roman Empire nods.

                "Very well. Let's get you to a better position to fight. You have a pocket watch on you, can I see it?"

                Holy Roman Empire nods, and hands the watch over to the Illuminati. He had only received the watch that morning, not sure of where it had come from in the first place. "I'll show you how to use this, so that when the time comes you can do it yourself. You can change your age with this. So, if I set the watch forward," the Illuminati does so, and Holy Roman Empire feels as though he has grown a few centimeters, "You become older. Opposite happens if you set it back. Do you understand?"

                Holy Roman Empire nods as he is handed back the watch.

                "Keep on your guard. There are many enemies here. Follow me closely." The Illuminati takes off at a run into the forest, taking out his flag again.

                Holy Roman Empire takes out his sword and follows suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> England's spell is in old English (brought to you by the powers of Google with some help from Merlin). He basically just enchanted his sword to be more powerful. He can also use spells with it now as well (which will be useful for him when he starts fighting).


	5. The Mages

**Present Day - The Night before the Final Meeting**

                Arthur closes the door behind him quietly. He wishes he can do more for Dylan, but what Dylan really needs is a break from the constant visions, which is impossible at this moment in time. All of this week Dylan has been like this. A mixture of composure around the other nations, and silently panicking with his brothers.

                "Do you think he'll be ok?" Spéir asks concerned.

                "He's been through this before. He'll be fine. Though I just wish whatever is coming will just get here." Seamus says.

                Arthur nods in agreement.

                "So, why don't we go to a pub?" Allistor says.

                "Pass," Arthur says, walking away.

                "But why?" Spéir asks.

                "I don't want to get drunk before I have to go to the last meeting," Arthur says.

                "It makes getting through it easier," Allistor says, grinning.

                Arthur does not comment on that and leaves the building. He walks around the town, which is almost empty. It is eerie, but from what Alfred had said about this town, it is more like a village and people only come up here to hike.

                'Though, there should be more people around here,' Arthur thinks.

                Almost as if on cue, Arthur finds a person walking up the street. This man is wearing a trench coat, which makes Arthur question why. It is too warm out for a coat. Then Arthur gets a good look at the face. It is very tan.

                "Excuse me," the man says as he gets closer. His accent is very American. "Can you help me out?"

                "Depends. I'm not from this town."

                "It's not directions. No, I just want to know what this is. A friend of mine found it around here and took a picture. Neither of us knows what it is." Trench coat man gives Arthur a picture. The quality of it is incredible, especially since the photo itself looks as though it was taken by a camera that prints out the photo right after it is taken.

                "Your friend must be a genus with the camera," Arthur comments casually.

                "Yeah…" the guy says awkwardly, "He's a great photographer. He always has his camera on him."

                Arthur examines the rock in the picture. It is a milky white color; there is a bit of a rainbow where the light of the camera flash is. He recognizes this rock almost at once, though what it is doing in America is beyond Arthur. "It's something called a time stone, though most of them are in Europe."

                "A time stone?"

                "Yes," Arthur bit his tongue mentally. He had meant to give it a different name. "Legend has it that these stones allow a person to travel through time."

                "Ok, so what do they actually do?"

                "Look pretty?" Arthur suggests, looking back at the photo. It does actually do things with time, but it does much more than bring someone through time. It holds an incredible power that only Dylan knows. "My brother has more knowledge in the matter."

                "I would like to meet him."

                "Maybe another time. He was very much out of it today."

                "I see. Too bad, I'm going to be gone tomorrow. And there's no changing that plan." The man sounds annoyed by that, and his face scrunched up in bitterness.

                "Sightseeing?"

                "In a sense. More like a company outing. See you around, perhaps." The trench coat man walks away, leaving Arthur alone once more.

                Arthur has a bad feeling about this, not from the man, and not from his questions (though he does admit they were odd); it is from the fact that the man didn't take his photo back.

* * *

 

**Somewhere else - Still present day before the final meeting**

                The Illuminati walks silently alongside the Wiccan. It has been a long time since he has been in this part of the world. Even in his time, he typically stays on the continent of Eurasia, with the exception of the Celtic Isles. 'It is nice to see it still covered in forests,' the Illuminati thinks. Pætria destroyed the wildlife in most places in what we know to be America. The pictures were awful, though they were not as devastating as the destruction done in Italy after World War 3. Just thinking about it makes the Illuminati cringe inwardly from the pain of that time.

                "As talkative as ever I see," the Wiccan comments, bringing the Illuminati out of his own thoughts.

                "Please don't say that," the Illuminati says. There was a time when the Illuminati would have talked up a storm. But that was long before he became the Illuminati.

                "I'm kidding," the Wiccan states dully, "I still don't understand why you are still so quiet. I would think that your mind has repaired itself by now."

                The Illuminati shakes his head. "It's more than the rock to the head." A long time ago, the Illuminati was badly injured and the recovery from that injury changed him almost completely. "Let us drop the subject please." He bites his tongue after saying so; he sounds just like the Kreuzritter when he is in a mood. "Answer this: once we find the little ones, what are we to do with them?"

                "We protect them."

                "But for how long?"

                "As long as it takes for Pætria to no longer come after them."

                The Illuminati nods. "And once we know that they will be safe, we will send them back to their own time?"

                "Yes. While we are here, we must also look for the time stones."

                "Time stones?"

                "Yes, not only will they make setting up the time spell much easier, but they can repair the damage done to time."

                "You didn't use them before," the Illuminati points out.

                "That is because my brother destroyed them before New Rome came and took over his land. And, yes, there are some here in America. They are, or were in our time, scattered all over the world. My brother just used a type of spell that effected them all. He knew that New Rome had a powerful magic, and based on the way she took over some of the nations, he didn't want her to get a hold of them."

                "Probably for the best," the Illuminati says, "So what can they do to repair damage? Wipe memories?"

                "No, they just repair physical time space, which the watches have ripped. Hopefully no one falls into one of those, and no one comes from one of those. That would not be good and make this whole situation worse than it already is."

                "We are in a town in which currently most of the world's nations are visiting. And there are civilians here."

                "Not for long." The Wiccan takes off his cloak and mask. His clothes underneath are a uniform from the 1700's. His face look tired, not that it was anything new. His emerald eyes are dulled, but once again, they have been that way for a long time.

                "What are you doing?" the Illuminati asks.

                "I'm going to evacuate the civilians. The nations here will leave by tomorrow, which will leave this town completely deserted."

                "Unless you have the day wrong."

                "No, I know I have the day right," the Wiccan says confidently.

                The Illuminati purses his lips. Whenever the Wiccan gets confidant like this, something bad bounds to happen. "And how are you going to convince people to leave?"

                "It is not about what you say…" the Wiccan starts to say, and as he does so he puts a mark on his dominant hand. His eyes glow green for a moment and his skin changes. When his eyes fade, he looks just like Alfred, only dressed in a uniform that the American never wore and with green eyes. "...but who you look like." His voice has changed though, into one that sounds American.

                "You know his eyes are blue."

                "I can't look exactly like him, now can I?" the Wiccan says, "What if I run into him?"

                "He's a bit of an idiot," the Illuminati says, "You should know that better than I, but I see your point. Shall I wait for you here then?"

                "No, continue without me and try to find the little ones. They might start appearing tonight. One will at least."

                "Who?"

                "America. Each of the watches have been made so that they bring the little ones at different times in different places here. That way, if they end up in the wrong hands, there is a better chance that not all of them will end up in the wrong hands."

                The Illuminati nods and continues walking in the forest as the Wiccan (with the face of Alfred) goes into the town. Alone, once again. But the Illuminati is used to being alone by now, even if he preferred to be with someone. At least he doesn't cry on his own anymore. In fact, he can no longer cry. It's funny; in the beginning, he was the crybaby of the group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when I'll be posting this story again. I've got a lot on my plate with finals coming up (though, to be honest I should be working on research papers right now). I'm hoping sooner rather than later. I will answer questions if people have them.


	6. Ciao from All Spands of Time

            Feliciano waits on the steps of the building that has been holding the world meetings over the past few days. The last meeting, which was for the major powers of the world, has just finished. And if everything was fine, everyone would be at lunch by now.

            However, Gilbert is missing. Feliciano had seen him slip out during the meeting, but he never returned. Most everyone went out to go look for him, but Feliciano and Matthew were asked to stay behind in case the ex-nation decided to return like a stray cat. Currently, Matthew is inside the building, taking another look over to see if Gilbert had been inside the building all along.

            Feliciano sighs and leans back so he can see the sky. He'd rather be running in the forest along with everyone else, it is such a nice day outside. The air is fresh. The sun is shining. What can possibly go wrong?

            "Excuse me?" a voice nearby asks.

            Feliciano turns his head to see a girl around Alfred's age. Her hair is past shoulder length, though is pulled back in a ponytail and is an auburn color. There is one solitary curl that is stuck in the middle of her forehead (obviously attached to her scalp, but it wasn't like Feliciano's curl that stuck out from the side of his head). Her eyes are a hazel color, that seem to pop out because of her hair color. She is wearing a slightly ragged navy long-sleeved shirt and pants of the same color. The pants seem to be made of sweatpants material, however they look rather professional. The girl looks to be rather out of breath, like she had been running recently.

            "Hey, bella. How can I help you?" Feliciano asks kindly as he sits up.

            The girl shifts her right foot. "Is this the Capsler building?"

            Feliciano had to take a moment to remember the name of the building. "Si, that it is."

            The girl gives a look-over of the building in confusion. "It looks empty," she comments.

            "Well, everyone left except for me and my friend, Matthew. By the way, I'm Feliciano."

            The girl looks at the hand that Feliciano has extended for a moment before taking it. "Calypso," she replies.

            "That's a nice name."

            Calypso smiles, "Yeah, I like it too."

            "Are you trying to find someone?"

            "Yes, several people actually. I thought they would be here, but seeing as this place is empty, I guess not." Calypso sits down on the steps next to Feliciano in slight despair.

            "Maybe I've seen them around," Feliciano suggests, "Do you have a picture of them?"

            Calypso pulls out a smartphone, which the case is decorated in flags that Feliciano doesn't recognize at all. "Most of these pictures are them in masks… that doesn't help at… here, I knew I had one of the Wiccan with his mask off." Calypso shows the picture to Feliciano.

            His first reaction to the picture was that it was Arthur because this guy had the same, thick eyebrows. However, as he continued looking, he could see this definitely wasn't Arthur, at least not the Arthur he knew. The person in the picture looks to be about 40, his face is worn out by time. His eyes are blue-green, like someone put a die of one of the colors to repaint the irises; the left iris is broken into five pieces. There are faded scars on his face, like battle scars from an old war.

            Feliciano shakes his head. He would have remembered if he had seen this man before. "Sorry," he says sadly.

            "It's fine. I wasn't expecting you to have seen him anyway."

            "Who is he?" Feliciano asks curiously.

            "He's known as the Wiccan. I would say he's a friend of mine, but he doesn't like me all that much. I admire him though… Anyway, his group is in this town and I need to find them all before they do something stupid."

            Before Feliciano can inquire more about it, an explosion goes off in the town. "What was that?" Feliciano asks, standing up to see if he can get a better look. Moments later, there is another explosion, this time, closer to where Feliciano and Calypso are at.

            Gilbert comes into view, running as fast as he can and carrying someone, a small child, on his back.

            Calypso stands up and pulls out a silver cylinder. "This doesn't bode well," she mutters under her breath.

            A few seconds later, another person appears. He is holding a large silver rocket launcher.

            "Well, shit," Calypso turns to Feliciano, "Go inside and bar the doors."

            "What about you?"

            "I'll be fine. Better than you will be if you stay out here."

            Before she can go forward, Gilbert meets up with the two of them. He grabs both their hands and runs into the building, dragging Feliciano and Calypso with him. Feliciano closes the doors and locks them. Calypso, after giving Gilbert a dirty look, draws a circle on the door and writes runes along the inside of the circle. Once she is done, it glows for a moment, just before another explosion sounds from right outside the doors.

            "You did not have to do that," Calypso tells Gilbert.

            "You're welcome for saving your ass," Gilbert responds as he lets the child on his back down to the floor, "Anyway, Feli, we've got a problem."

            Feliciano looks at the child and has to do a double take. It's himself... as a child. "How is he here?" Feliciano asks, confused.

            Gilbert shrugs, "I ran into him in the forest."

            "Was he alone?" Calypso asks.

            "Ja, and lost. He doesn't recognize me though, which is weird because you knew me when you were his age, right?" Gilbert asks Feliciano.

            Calypso kneels to get a good look at the child. "What's your name?" she asks.

            "Italy," the small nation responds. Feliciano and Gilbert look over to that conversation in surprise.

            "Do you know how you got here?"

            "I fell down a well."

            Gilbert snorts out some of his breath in amusement, "That sounds like something from Alice in Wonderland."

            Feliciano is still confused as to how Calypso isn't questioning the fact that Italy's name is Italy. Most normal people would ask about the legitimacy of that claim.

            "Did you have a pocket watch on you when you fell?"

            Italy nods and takes out the pocket watch. Calypso takes it, and fiddles with the time contraption.

            "Say… how do you know about nations?" Feliciano asks slowly.

            "I kinda happen to be one myself," Calypso explains, "Though," she looks up from the pocket watch and up at the ceiling for a moment, "I was hoping not to talk about it." She then turns back to the pocket watch.

            "And why's that?" Gilbert asks.

            "Because you aren't supposed to know who I am… yet," Calypso responds. Suddenly, Italy grows a bit taller so he looks more to be around 13 than 8. "There, now you don't have to strain your neck as much." She hands Italy back the pocket watch.

            "What, are you from the future?" Gilbert says jokingly.

            Before Calypso can respond, footsteps come running over to the small group. "Gilbert!" Matthew says once he joins the group, "You're ok."

            Gilbert smirks, "Why wouldn't I be, Birdie?" This was something new that none of the nations understood. Not even Alfred calls Matthew "Birdy", and they are brothers. Just Gilbert. Matthew seems to not care, so everyone just leaves it alone.

            "We were all kind of worried you've… you know…" Matthew falls silent as he looks at Italy, "What happened?"

            Gilbert shakes his head, "No clue. All I know is that Feliciano has a younger clone of himself now and this "nation" right here is possibly from the future."

            "I never said anything about being from the future," Calypso points out.

            "But you aren't going to deny it, so you might as well say it," Gilbert retorts.

            Calypso sighs, "Fair enough. This world is about to get turned upside down anyway. What's the harm in telling you? I'm the territory of New Rome." She takes a little bow before continuing, "I know that you are Italy," she points at Feliciano, "And that you are Canada," she points to Matthew, "But…" she turns to Gilbert, "I don't know who you are."

            "I…" Gilbert takes an epic stance, "Am the amazing and awesome Prussia!"

            Calypso has a confused look on her face, "Are you a Germanic country?"

            "Yes," Gilbert's face falls a bit.

            "Alright. I probably have heard of your country by the Kreuzritter, but it's been a while."

            "So… um… what were the explosions?" Matthew asks, "I thought I finally found you when I heard them, so I made my way over here."

            "What do you mean?" Feliciano asks.

            "Well, as I was looking through the building to find Gilbert, I sensed someone else in the building. I thought it was you Gilbert, but seeing as you are right here…" Matthew looks back the way he came from.

            "Show us, then" Gilbert says, "If you found someone, we don't want to leave them alone, right?" Gilbert and Matthew head down the hallway.

            Feliciano looks at Calypso, "New Rome?"

            "Si," Calypso says, "It was the official name I gave myself after I completed my mission in creating my nation."

            "And you know me?"

            "…sort of. I have most your territory as a part of my land, and I know a lot about you, but I've never met you before now. Not like this."

            "So, in the future, my nation falls," Feliciano states.

            Calypso nods, but doesn't say anything more on that note. She has a guilty look on her face. "We should probably go follow Matthew and Gilbert."

            "Do you know what's going on?" Feliciano asks as they head down the hallway.

            "Sort of. But I think it will be best to explain it when we're all together. It's a rather long story, since there is a lot of history that needs to be covered."


	7. Look Who We Found

            "Gilbert!" Ludwig shouts, scaring a flock of near by birds so much that they fly off from the tree they had been comfortably perching in, "Where are you?"

            "I don't think shouting is going to help," Kiku states quietly, walking up next to Ludwig, "It hasn't worked so far."

            "Being silent doesn't do much either," Ludwig says gruffly as he continues calling out for his brother.

            Arthur sighs. They have been wandering about this place for an hour now. The group consists of himself, Kiku, Ludwig, and Francis. There is also a second group consisting of Alfred, Yao, Lovino, and Ivan. All looking for one guy who could never enter a room without telling everyone he was there. Gilbert apparently had slipped out during the World Meeting, according to Feliciano, and then never came back. Not that it impacted the meeting at all, considering his nation had been dissolved and thusly he didn't have a voice in the meeting anyway, but his disappearance still made Ludwig nervous. Arthur has a bad feeling about all of this. He has a theory, but he knows that Ludwig isn't going to take it well.

            "Look, he could be back in the hotel," Arthur suggests, "Have you thought of that?"

            "That was the first thing I checked. He won't answer his phone or the phone in the hotel."

            "You don't think that maybe he…" Francis starts to say from behind Arthur.

            "Don't," Arthur hisses, "It's bad enough it might be a possibility. After all, he isn't much of a nation anymore."

            "But it would save us all time," Francis points out.

            "What would?" Kiku asks curiously.

            "That Prussia might have disappeared," Arthur says quietly, "You know, for good."

            Apparently, Ludwig hears that. "Nein, he is still around." Without another word, he parts a few feet away from the group.

            They walk in awkward silence. Francis continuously tries to get some kind of conversation going, Kiku is always the one to respond. Ludwig is too annoyed with everything and everyone and Arthur doesn't feel like talking. Regardless of the fact that it is a gorgeous day outside, there is an aura of danger that has permeated everywhere. Something is going to happen, and Arthur has a bad feeling that it's going to happen today.

            The group suddenly stops; there is a person a few meters ahead just standing there looking into the forest. His back is to the group, so none of them can see his face. However, Arthur recognizes who it is immediately.

            "Alfred! What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Arthur yells as he walks over. It's Alfred all right, Arthur can recognize that stupid hair and stature anywhere. But his clothing isn't what he usually wears. It's a black cape that looks like it came from the 18th century. Usually Alfred sports on an aviator jacket or a simple t-shirt. Capes aren't exactly his thing; actually, now that Arthur thinks about it, they never have been.

            Arthur expects a retort something similar to "Same to you, jackass," but it doesn't come. Instead, Alfred turns to face them. Except it isn't Alfred, at least not the Alfred Arthur has known. His blue eyes are glazed with white mist; that was the first thing Arthur notices since Alfred's blue eyes are usually this pure sky blue. Then he sees the scars on this gentleman's face that make it look like he is sown together. "Alfred's" eyes click when he sees Arthur, as if snapping out of a trance. He looks confused at first, like he was stumped as to the fact that Arthur is there. Then he notices something else in the forest, and his eyes shift into a panic.

            "Get out of here!" the guy shouts.

            The group turns to go back, a woman with a pole that looks electrified appears. She is wearing a light blue business suit and a business like poker face. Kiku is the first to react as the woman brings the pole down for a blow. He grabs her dominant arm and uses the hilt of his katana to bring her down.

            They soon find themselves surrounded by many people in the same business suit (different colors, though). A gun shot rings out. Without any time to register what has happened, they find themselves inside a magic circle.

            Instantly, they are transported to a completely different place, void of life completely. All around them are dirt walls that have random assorted objects stuck into them. Almost like the trenches in WWI were, except these objects are more of household items. The mysterious guy groans as he appears in the space. "Wiccan is going to kill me," he says in despair as he puts away his gun. The gun itself is made out of a silver colored metal, though the model looks old, something that Arthur probably would have thought came from one of Alfred's wild west films.

            "What happened back there?" Ludwig asks angrily, "And what is this place?"

            "That… right… It's a long story. One I was hoping to avoid with you guys."

            "Explain," Arthur demands, stepping up to the mysterious guy. The guy has put on a mask that looks similar to that stupid anonymous mask that Alfred is obsessed with. Alfred seems to mention it every time they talk about movies; it drives Arthur insane.

            "I'm called the Mason. I'm on a mission to find and protect a few nations, and none of which are you." He sounds slightly exasperated, which can easily be mistaken for annoyance.

            "Who are they then?" Arthur asks in a huff.

            The Mason doesn't respond at first, as if behind the mask he is measuring up Arthur, or more likely the situation. "No. I am in enough trouble already making contact with you guys, so forget it."

            There was a visual ripple that went through the entire space. The Mason clutched his heart. "Damn," he hisses through his pain, "I thought we'd have more time."

            "This is a magic space, yes?" Arthur said. He could tell it was a magic space for he could sense it everywhere. What makes it interesting is the terrain. Magic spaces are formed based on a person's memories, and seeing as this place looks like one of the World War 1 trenches means this man either is obsessed with that war, or he has lived through it.

            "Yeah, warlock. It is. And the soldiers in the real world are already trying to dismantle it." The Mason took a moment to think while the ripples kept multiplying. "Alright, I'm closing this popsicle stand. Get ready for a fight."

            Arthur takes out his spell book. If it is a fight these folks on the other side wanted, it is a fight they are going to get.

            The Mason holds up three fingers… two… one. The desolate area vanishes and the group once again is in the forest. Arthur casts a binding spell on the first person he sees.

            "The hell! I save your ass and this is the thanks I get?" says a person who is dressed in a black and grey shirt that looks like it is half of a uniform along with the tartan of Scotland (the official one for the country, seeing as there are a ton of tartans for each of the different clans). The spell not only has this person contained in one area, but she is also floating in midair. "Can you please put me down?"

            Arthur gets a better look at the area. The suit people are mostly gone (there is one who is on the ground, bleeding from the head).

            "Put her down," the Mason says as he puts away his weapon, which is this silver cylinder that looks like something from Star Wars.

            "No, not until I get a proper explanation of what is going on."

            "Oui," Francis agrees, "All of us would like to know what this is all about. I think we are entitled to that."

            "There isn't time," the person trapped in the spell says, "Mason, Japan has been taken by the Relesk."

            "When?" the Mason asks, once again taking out the silver cylinder.

            "Now. I would have followed myself, but I saw you and I know you are more qualified for that job, seeing as you are more skillful in battle than I am right now." She points in a direction.

            The Mason nods and takes off running in the indicated direction.

            The person in the bubble sighs, "Now, Arthur, please release me. I promise I won't run."   

            "No… how do you know my name?" Arthur asks confused.

            "Because I know you. By several names actually. I even know the fact that someone close to you calls you Iggy."

            A few of the group giggle a bit, except for Ludwig (because he is annoyed by everything right now – all he wants is to find his brother) and Arthur (who hates that nickname).

            "Who are you?" Arthur presses.

            "You can call me either Leanna, or the Celtic Isles. But my full name is Guardian of the Celtic Isles."

            "I didn't know you had another sibling," Ludwig comments to Arthur.

            "That's because I don't," Arthur says, still confused.

            "That's because I don't appear on the scene until much later…" Leanna explains, "Can I please be let out now?"

            Arthur sighs, but dispels the spell.

            "Thank you. Now, I suggest we get out of here."

            "Nein, not until I find my brother."

            Leanna looks at Ludwig for a moment. "Look, there are some really bad people out here right now, and we don't have much of a plan to deal with them right now. I don't know if your brother is dead or alive, but most likely dead from what I have seen these people do. And I really don't want any of you to die. So, let's go find a good spot to hide out in, and come up with a better plan of action. Who knows? Maybe we'll find your brother along the way. Ok?"

            The confidence that this person spoke with completely blows away the group. "By all means, lead on, mademoiselle."

            "Thank you for the title, but you are a bit incorrect by that statement," Leanna says, "Now, where would be a good place to hide out in?"

            "The closest building from here is the Capsler building," Kiku says.

            "Excellent, let's go there, then. Oh, and weapons out if you have them," Leanna takes out a sword that is simplistic in design, but beautifully embroidered with Celtic circles, "I have a bad feeling we might be attacked on the way."

            Kiku wastes no time pulling out his katana. Ludwig takes out two guns and hands one to Francis. "No worries," Ludwig says, "We've all had training in surprise attacks."

* * *

 

            "Oh… he disappeared," Alfred comments as he slowly put his hand down.

            "There was no one there to begin with!" Lovino shouts in frustration.

            "There was someone," Alfred whines, "Kiku was over there in those bushes… though he was wearing a kimono… he wasn't wearing one earlier… was he?"

            Yao groans, "We are getting nowhere. Who was the one who put us into these groups in the first place?"

            Both Lovino and Alfred shrug their shoulders.

            "Come on," Yao says, continuing on ahead, "The faster we find Gilbert, the faster we can go back." He is on edge right now; he has been all day. There has been this constant nagging feeling in the back of his neck that something bad is going to happen. He original thought that it would happen at the world meeting, and sure enough, Gilbert goes missing. Not that Yao cares really, but it is still worrying since Ludwig is so attached to his brother (and he is the voice of reason in all world meetings). But even while traversing though these woods, the feeling hasn't stopped.

            "What if he isn't here?" Ivan suggests.

            "Come on dude," Alfred responds, "He wasn't in town either, so he has to be in these woods. Where else could he have gone?"

            "Oh, I don't know," Lovino says in an annoyed tone, "Maybe he already went up to heaven and this is all some wild goose chase."

            Or perhaps the feeling on the back of Yao's neck is the irritation from having to deal with these nations. Three days' worth of these meetings isn't good for anyone's sanity.

            Ivan suddenly turns around, taking out his gun. Both Lovino and Alfred raise their hands up in defense. "Dude, seriously?" Alfred asks, though his voice shakes slightly.

            "Not you, Alfred. Him." Ivan motions the gun past the other two nations over to a man who looks to be from a story book. He is wearing a uniform and a mask. "Who are you?"

            "A friend," the man says in a weak voice. Not like he is dying weak, but because he is tired.

            "Dude, are you alright?" Alfred asks, for once actually reading the atmosphere.

            "I haven't been alright for more than a century," the man says, "But for the sake of what you care about, yes, I am alright."

            "What do you mean you haven't been alright for a century?" Yao asks, "And you still haven't answered Ivan's question."

            "Heh. I am known as the Musketeer my most people. And I'm waiting to die. I have lived for far too long."

            Yao understood where this man was coming from. He too felt as though he had been living for far too long sometimes. He has seen millennia, whereas most of the countries he works with now are lucky to have seen a few centuries.

            "Dude, you're 40," Alfred bluntly states.

            "Oui, I do appear so," the Musketeer admits, "And you're 19, but you can say that you have seen your country's war of independence."

            "You know who we are?" Lovino asks. Ivan tightens the grip of his gun.

            "Oui. I have met you all before, though for me it has been lifetimes ago."

            "I don't remember you," Yao says. Surely, if anyone in this group was going to know this guy, it would be him.

            "No, because you haven't met me like this. But you have seen me in a different way. I won't say who for the preservation of time. May I ask what you are all doing out here?"

            "We're here to find a friend of ours. Maybe you've seen him," Alfred hands the Musketeer a picture, "This is Gilbert. He kinda went AWOL and we need him back."

            "So he is still alive in this point in time," the Musketeer mutters quietly to himself. "No, I have not seen him, sadly. Maybe I can help you look."

            "Sure! The more the merrier," Alfred says merrily.

            "No, I don't trust him," Ivan says, "Who are you to us? We should know why we should care."

            Yao felt a bit torn. For one, he could understand this stranger's plight; on the other hand, he did seem very suspicious.

            "It does not matter," the Musketeer says, taking a step back, "But I will warn you that there are people out here who won't hesitate to kill."

            "Like you?" Ivan asks, raising his gun at the Musketeer.

            "No… like him," the Musketeer points to a person behind the group.

            Yao turns to see a person in a blue and grey uniform holding a metal rod that sounds like it is buzzing with electricity. Their shoulder length, dark brown hair is tied up so that it looks formal. On their face is a faded mark that looks like three feathers of some bird. As a reflex, Yao kicks the person in the stomach, which was completely unguarded. Apparently, this person has no training for a fight, and so collapses on the ground, unconscious.

            "I say we should go," Yao says, not wanting to be fighting people on account of a chance to find a nation who may or may not be already dead.

            "Yeah…" Lovino says, a bit taken aback.

            The group starts heading back to the Capsler building, at a brisk speed. The Musketeer follows them, and Ivan still hasn't put away his gun.

            "How do you think Ludwig is going to take this news," Alfred asks the group.

            "What if they already found Gilbert?" Ivan suggests.

            "What if they haven't though? Come on, that guy is going to kick the bucket soon anyway."

            Yao felt that is a bit insensitive to say, but he couldn't help with agree with the American all the same. Suddenly, from out of the sky, something fell right on top of Yao.

            "What the…"

            The thing, or more accurately, the person who fell gets up quickly and draws out a sword. "Who are you?" this person says in a threatening voice.

            Yao couldn't believe his eyes; the person standing in front of him is himself, albeit much younger. China seems to recognize Yao as well, for he slowly lowers his sword.

            "Dude!" Alfred of course, is excited about this, "Did you clone yourself?"

            "Don't be stupid, Alfred," Yao snaps as he stands back up.

            The Musketeer, looks around the area, then back that the group, "Not that this isn't a happy reunion, but we should get moving, especially now that this young one has been found."

            "And why is that exactly?" Ivan asks.

            "The nation who attacked us before is with a part of a larger group who is looking for this young nation, as well as a few others. This group, they are called the Relesk, wants these nations dead."

            "But why? What is going on?" Yao asks. He is starting to get annoyed by all of this mystery surrounding this stranger.

            "Can you listen and walk at the same time?" the Musketeer asks.

            "If that will get you to talk, then yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Hey everyone! So here is a fun thing I'm doing in this story: please meet Rodney, who died while fighting against the Celtic Isles (they were the one bleeding out in the first part of this chapter.
> 
> Rodney: (waves awkwardly as they try to clean up the blood from their uniform)
> 
> Me: Ok, not so much of a talker for right now (but to be fair, they did just die). This is going to be the "death" room, since there are going to be a few people dying. Right now, I've just got Rodney here. If you want to ask Rodney questions, please message me or comment and I'll be sure to get it into the next chapter. This was something fun I wanted to try and it will get more interesting as the story progresses.
> 
> Rodney: You know you could help me here. At least give me a mirror.
> 
> Me: Here. And so you know, you've got some on your head... actually a lot of it. May I remind you that you were bleeding out. Anyway, please comment, it helps with my writing. Now, I have to get writing on the next chapter.


	8. Seeking Shelter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to say this is where characters are going to start getting confusing, so as a reiteration: the nations from the past are always going to be referred to as their nation name, the nations of the present will always be referred to as their human names. And then you can tell who the future nations are.

            "The source of the aura should be right around here," Matthew says as Feliciano and Calypso catch up. He hears this faint sound coming from close by. "There's something here."

            "There's nothing here though… except for that closet," Feliciano points out, a bit confused.

            Matthew activates his spell and looks around. He hears a faint sound in the hallway again, though it is too quiet to hear what it was exactly.

            "Hello?" Matthew says, going over to the closet, "Is anyone there?"

            "There's no one here though," Calypso says.

            "I agree with Matthew," Gilbert says, "I can hear someone there."

            Matthew tries the doorknob on the closet; locked. He really doesn't want to break down the door in case he hurts the person inside during that process. The Canadian sighs; Dylan will probably not be impressed by this at all, but Matthew doesn't really want to pull out his spell book right now and he knew that if someone had enough belief, any magic is possible. Holding the door knob, Matthew mutters under his breath, "Alohomora." He hears the lock click and he opens the door.

            Inside is himself, albeit younger. Based on the clothing, he is probably from around the late 1700's. He doesn't have glasses either, which only helps the 1700's theory.

            "Oh, look. Now there are two of you," Gilbert says slightly amused. He would be more so if their current situation wasn't as strange.

            Canada stands up, blinking as his eyes are trying to adjust to the light.

            "You said you were going to explain?" Feliciano asks Calypso.

            "Again, I don't know much really about the details." All the other nations look at New Rome, who sighs. "When I'm from, the world is all united under one nation, Pætria. The police force directly under him are called the Relesk. The nations that are still left work for him, or so that's what we're supposed to do."

            "You don't," Gilbert points out.

            "No. Can you blame me? I hate take taking orders from other people. The guy who was chasing you, by the way, was Pætria."

            "But why are you all here in this time?" Matthew asks.

            "Pætria, apparently wanted to mess with history. The Wiccan was involved and seeing that these nations from your past are popping up here, I think Pætria's plan is to kill them."

            "But why do this?"

            "I don't know; I find it stupid myself. But, my friends, they are trying to protect these little nations. And I want to make sure no one dies… except for maybe Pætria."

            "Is he that bad?"

            New Rome nods, "The worse. A nation should care for their people at least. Not Pætria. But by the time we realized what he was doing, it was too late."

            Gilbert has a sullen look on his face, no doubt this story his him too close to home.

            "I'm going to see if I can make this building more of a safe base," New Rome says, "I'm surprised that Pætria hasn't continued trying to force his way in here."

            "Unless something else has caught his eye," Canada says thoughtfully. He looks up and becomes surprised when he realizes that everyone is looking at him like they heard him. 

* * *

 

            "I still never thought I'd ever be back here," the Mafia grumbles as he, the Conquistador, and little England make their way through the forest.

            "You were here once?" the Conquistador asks, looking up from his scanner (which is in the shape of a wrist-watch) that has a map of the area on it.

            "Yes, and you were here too," the Mafia answered, annoyed, "We had meetings here about the climate change crisis and other things."

            "Oh, right, that was a long time ago."

            "No kidding," the Mafia says, rolling his eyes.

            "Climate change?" England asks.

            The Mafia looks behind him; he was charged in carrying the little nation. "Si. People did stupid things and hurt the land. So we had to find a way to fix the mistake before we all died."

            "But why would people hurt the land?" England sounds distraught, "The land is what we all live on."

            The Mafia sighs, "At first, people didn't know what they were doing exactly, or at least the cost of their actions. But, as we learned more, we realized the harm we were doing."

            "I would think you would know if you were hurting the land," England says, "It cries out in pain if you misuse it."

            "Yeah, but most people didn't listen to the land," the Conquistador says, "Or the people guarding it…" He suddenly stops in his tracks. "Mafia, get ready to run."

            "Wha…"

            The Conquistador pushes the Mafia to the side as a blur whooshes past them. It is Pætria, and he looks pissed as all hell being forced into the light of goodness. The Mafia wastes no time in getting his ass out of there; England had to be kept safe. He runs out of the forest and finds the Capsler building.

            'Let's hope no one is here right now,' the Mafia prays in his head, 'Knowing the Wiccan, though, he probably evacuated everyone already.'

            The Mafia runs inside and locks the door behind him. He takes out a piece of chalk from inside his pocket and starts writing a spell to seal the door from anyone who would burn it down.

            "That's a weird spell," England comments.

            "Magic works differently depending on the nation," the Mafia explains.

            England lets go of the Mafia and lands on the ground. He looks around the hallway with a curious, but despairing look. "Is this a prison?" the little nation asks.

            "No, it's a business building. Though, at this point in time, it could be called a prison by some."

            Footsteps are soon heard in the hallway and a small group of assorted nations appear in eyesight.

            "Who are you?" one of them asks. He is a white haired individual with violet eyes.

            The Mafia is taken aback in surprise, as England introduces himself proudly to the group.

            "Well, that's obvious. I'm talking about Mr. Mysterious in the cape. Hey Calypso… where'd you go?"

            The Mafia walks over to the group; New Rome is trying to sneak out unseen. "Oh no you don't, Roma Nuova," the Mafia says, grabbing the future nation's arm, "You better have a good reason to drag in my ass into all this."

* * *

            Feliciano feels lost and utterly confused. He sorta knew why England was there, though he wanted to know more about that too. However, the person in the black cloak was Lovino, no way it wasn't him. The only difference is the fact that the man in front of him now is much older than Lovino is currently.

            As New Rome is trying to explain her possession of being out here in this time, Feliciano walks over and takes off the hat the man wears. A solitary curl pops out from the man's right side, just as Lovino's does. The man looks at Feliciano with a bit of anger. Then his eyes soften.

            "Lovino?" Feliciano asks quietly, with a lost and confused look in his eyes.

            The man and Feliciano look at each others eyes for a few moments. Feliciano can see Lovino in this man's eyes, except they look broken. The man eventually sighs and asks with the same quiet tone, "Can I have my hat back, Veneziano?"

            Feliciano obeys the request. "What's going on?"

            "A lot, and none of which you should know." Talk about theme of the day.

            A knock comes to the door. "Mafia," a Hispanic voice says sing-song like, "Did you find any tomatoes?"

            Gilbert bursts out in laughter, in which everyone joins in, except for the Mafia and New Rome.

            The Mafia rolls his eyes; it was a code he and the Conquistador came up with a while ago in case someone was trying to get into a secret place. He opens the door to let the Conquistador in.

            "Gracias," the Conquistador bows as he enters through the doorway.

            "So?" the Mafia asks after a few minutes of silence from the Conquistador's end.

            "Right. Pætria lost interest once you and England got in here. I think he found another one of the younglings."

            "Damn…"The Mafia pulls out his gun as if in preparation.

            "Don't you dare go back out," New Rome says forcefully, maneuvering herself so that she blocks the door.

            The Mafia blows air out of his nose angrily. "We need to."

            "Then take me with you."

            "No. We are expendable. You are not. You have a role in the future, while are running on borrowed time."

            Matthew suddenly falls into the wall, using it to support himself. His eyes are glowing violet.

            "Is something wrong?" Gilbert asks.

            "There's… someone at the front door…" Matthew's eyes grow wide in panic as his eyes stop glowing, "We need to let them in." He takes off running without approval from anyone.

            The Conquistador follows, but he doesn't try to stop Matthew.

            "Shouldn't we go after them?" New Rome asks.

            "No…" the Mafia says slowly, "I think that was the Wiccan asking for help with something… I guess Matthew is the most magically sensitive one here, or you probably would have been the one called, Roma Nuova."

            "Shouldn't we go over there then in case our help is needed as well?" New Rome points out.

            "Depends." The Mafia looks around the hallway, "Is this stronghold sealed up yet?"

            "No."

            "Let's do that first, then see what the Wiccan has brought."

* * *

            The Wiccan sighs in relief when the doors of the Capsler building open. He runs inside and asks, "Is there a bed here?"

            "I think there's one over here," Matthew says as he closes the door again, "To your left, three doors on the right."

            The Wiccan notices Matthew and the Conquistador, both of which should not be in this current place, but knows he has to take care of the bleeding nation in his arms. America came later than the Wiccan expected, and he is injured, which also was unexpected; the Wiccan had tried for the best of his ability to get these nations at a time in which they weren't in much danger. Apparently, the Mason remembered his own history wrong. They all run into the room Matthew describes, which is basically a resting room for those who need it during a work day. The walls are a tranquil blue with a few framed photos of Vermont forests in the fall. There is a bed by the window, as well as a few sitting chairs.

            The Wiccan places America on the bed and immediately starts tending to the wounds. "So," the Wiccan says after he is confident that America is not going to bleed to death (seriously, who could have caused wounds like this?), "Can one of you explain to me why the both of you are here?" He doesn't turn around, for he is still working on America.

            The Conquistador backs up, so Matthew gets the clue he should probably speak first. "My companions and I were looking for Gilbert. Many of them are still in the forests looking for him, but he's in this building."

            "He's still alive?" the Wiccan asks with a confused tone.

            "Yes," Matthew says slowly out of confusion.

            "Odd, I could have sworn Gilbert had died by this point," the Wiccan says.

            "Well, it's been a few centuries," the Conquistador points out, "Your memory can't remember every detail."

            "True, but I was hoping that we wouldn't have to worry about the nations of this time. Speaking of which, it's your turn. What are you doing here? You were supposed to stay behind."

            "Yes…" the Conquistador says slowly, "About that… Roma Nueva found out about your plan and came here."

            The Wiccan groans, "If she's here, no doubt she brought other with her. This has gotten to another level of complication."

            Matthew looks at America; the uniform he has with him is from the American Civil War. "Why is this happening?" Matthew asks, a bit helplessly. He cannot see the reason to any of this.

            "It's a long story… who else is in this building?"

            "Roma Nueva, Canada, Italy, Feliciano, Gilbert, England, and the Mafia."

            "Can you get the others? I need to talk with New Rome at least. In the meantime, I'm going to alert the others to come here. We need a new plan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rodney: Now that I look presentable.
> 
> Me: Not to burst your bubble, but no one can see you anyway and I really don't care about your presentation.
> 
> Rodney: I feel better now that I'm not covered in my own blood. Anyway, as a proper introduction, my name is Rodney Vander and I am from the territory of Waldtal... which I guess in the past was some section of Germany... yes?
> 
> Me: Yeah, Eastern Germany to be specific. I need to get some kind of world map up on Deviantart on of these days.
> 
> Rodney: My job before I was killed was being a part of the secret service directly under the chancellor, the formal name for this group being the Relesk. As for the question of fighting the Celtic Isles, she attacked me first. I was trying to defend myself.
> 
> Me: Ok, but I think the question was more as to what the hell you were doing there in the first place.
> 
> Rodney: Oh... I was sent out with a small group of other secret service over to take care of some renegades. I have no idea who they are, but they have been messing with the great nation of Pætria for a very long time. I was just doing my job.
> 
> Me: (muttering)Says the snowflake after the avalanche.
> 
> Rodney: What?
> 
> Me: Nothing. Next question given from the comments - what does dying feel like?
> 
> Rodney: That is a bit of an odd question to ask someone you don't really know...
> 
> Me: (shrugs) You're dead. That's what separates you from other people at this point right now. It's a valid question, especially that's all someone knows about you.
> 
> Rodney: (sighs) To be honest, it didn't feel like anything out of the ordinary. I was hit hard in the head. I passed out, and I ended up here in this place covered in dried blood. Where is this place anyway?
> 
> Me: Currently a closet sized room in the middle of Illinois. That's going to change in about a month, so don't get used to it. As for a clarification, the Mafia and the Conquistador call New Rome by the name their language would have called her by, and since they speak two different languages, they have two different names for her. Anyway, please comment, it helps with my writing.


	9. The Current Predicament

            "Now, as you all know, or should know by now, you're lives are in danger," the Mafia tells the nations from the past (England, Canada, and Italy), "That means you're not allowed to wander too much in case we need to find you in a hurry. So, stay in this hallway. You can go into any of the rooms, but don't leave the hallway. And don't you dare start playing hide and seek on any of us. I do not have the patience to put up with that shit."

            Canada looks at his feet, England glares at the Mafia with his arms crossed, and Italy is looking at a painting on the wall that depicts a scene on a closed top bridge.

            "Alright, now if you need to get me or someone else, press the number 5 on this." The Mafia hands England a device that looks similar to a cell phone. "And if you dare press the button as a prank, I will kick your ass."

            The Mafia left the room, from what England and the others could presume as other business that is more important than babysitting a bunch of teenagers… well, two teenagers and a child since no one bothered to change England back to his teen form.

            "He's a prick," England says, putting down the devise and standing up.

            "I'm sure he only means well," Italy says, kicking his feet cheerfully.

            "He could tell us exactly what is going on. Like why we're being hunted and killed. But no. Instead, we are kept in a corner to be out of the way like we are children."

            "But… we are children," Italy points out, "Especially you."

            "I am a country!" England snaps angrily.

            "We all are," Canada says quietly.

            England exhales annoyed, but sits back down, "All I mean to say is that we aren't inexperienced. I don't know about you two, but I've at least seen war. We can help… if they'd actually let us." England looks over at Canada, "Who are you, by the way? I know Italy from stories, but I don't know you at all."

            "I'm Canada."

            England shakes his head. "Never heard of you before."

            Canada doesn't say anything; he sinks into his chair, even though visually it doesn't accomplish anything.

            "Didn't one of the older nations say that we came from different time periods?" Italy asks.

            "Maybe…" England answered, "Why?"

            "If that's true," Italy says, "Maybe that's why you don't know Canada. I don't really know him either, but I have heard of him in passing."

            "From who?" England asks.

            "From you, when you visited Mr. Austria this one time…" Italy trails off, as he remembers the reason for England's visit that time.

            "Maybe we should start by saying what time period we're from," Canada suggests.

            "Great idea!" Italy says cheerily.

            "This is also pointless," England says, "There's no point to it."

            "But we've got nothing else to do." Italy reminds England, "We can't leave the hallway. Anyway, I'm from 1806."

            "Really? That isn't too far ahead from my time. I'm from 1783."

            Italy and Canada look over at England, who is looking at the two of them with wide eyes.

            "So, when are you from?" Italy asks.

            "1273," England said slowly.

            "Wow… I wasn't even alive then," Canada says.

            "I was!" Italy states happily.

            England shakes his head, "This is getting us nowhere." He looks around the room. "What would be more helpful is figuring out when we are now."

            "Oh," Italy says, snapping his fingers, "Gilbert told me we're in the year 2015."

            England looks like he could pass out at any moment. "No."

            "Si, and I don't think he was lying either."

            "It could explain why everything looks futuristic," Canada says, "I barely understand anything here."

            "And I understand none of it." England takes out his watch, "Since you're from the future from how I see it, do you know how this works?"

            Italy takes the watch and adjusts the time so that England is back as his teenage self. "There. Now you don't look as small anymore."

            "Thanks," England takes back the watch. He takes off his armor so that all he is wearing is the undergarments (shirt and trousers). "I suggest we go exploring. Maybe we'll find something helpful."

            "Ok," Canada says, nodding in agreement.

            The three of them walk out into the hallway. "I still don't understand why it isn't dark in here since there are no windows anywhere," England says, "Or candles… or torches…"

            Italy looks up. "That… whatever that is, seems to be what the source of the light is."

            England scowls at it. "It hurts my eyes."

            "Come on," Canada says, walking further into the hall.

            They all walk for a few doors down, until they reach an open door on the left. Because of curiosity, they peak into the room. Almost immediately, Canada runs in.

            "America!" he says as he runs to the bedside. Indeed, lying on top of the bed. His chest is wrapped up in bandages, and his shirt is draped across the back of a nearby chair. The nation himself is still unconscious. "Oh my God, what happened?" There are many conflicting emotions running through him: worry, anger, sadness, and fear. Worry for his brother, anger at his brother and whoever did this awful damage to him, sadness because he can't seem to escape it, and fear for the situation they are all in, and now America is added to this horrible mess.

            Italy has a look of concern on his face, "It looks bad, whatever it is. Like a nation attacked him."

            "How do you know that?" Canada asks.

            "Well, Grandpa Rome would sometimes come back home with injuries like this. It would take him weeks to be back to full health again."

            England looks at America. No, he has never met this nation before, but he could tell that this nation has a lot of potential. "Who is he?"

            Canada looks confused for moment, then remembers that England is the youngest of the bunch, "This is America. He… well, in my time, he just finished a war to become his own nation."

            "And he is a nation in my time. And kinda already in trouble with some pirates from what I heard Mr. England talking about."

            "Pirates?" Canada asks in surprise.

            "Yeah… from what I heard, they keep kidnapping America's people and selling them into slavery in Africa."

            Canada looks appalled at this. England just gives Italy a look, "And why would I be concerned by this?"

            "Um… well, you had control of America for a long time."

            "Me?" England exclaims.

            Canada and Italy nod. Before they can continue, America starts stirring. He slowly opens his eyes, then closes them quickly again from the pain of his injury. "Hell. I feel like I've gotten run over by a herd of buffalo," America mumbles, trying to sit up.

            "Don't. You should stay lying down," Canada says.

            "Yeah," Italy agrees, "You're wounds might open up again."

            "No, I need to get up," America mutters angrily, "I need to find out what happened last battle."

            "Battle?" Canada asks.

            America fully opens his eyes and takes a careful look at his surrounds… as best he can of course since he is basically blind without his glasses. He squints in a failing attempt to see more clearly. "Canada… is that you?"

            "Yes, it's me. Wh…"

            "The hell are you doing here? Did Molly send for you? I'm betting she did, because she would."

            Canada looks at America in confusion, "Who?"

            "Molly!" America says exasperatedly, waving his arms about, "Maine. You know, that state that you hang out with all the time because your climates are very similar... ish. And she's on the border of your land…"

            Canada and Italy look at each other for a moment. "I didn't realize the states were personified too," Italy says, "I thought it was just America."

            "Apparently so… I do remember when he started getting into the revolution that there was a group of people he hung out with a lot. I guess those were the personifications of the different colonies…"

            "What's going on?" America asks, not liking to be kept in the dark, "And can someone get me my glasses?"

            "Glasses?" Canada asks in surprise.

            "Yes. I can barely see without them? Seriously, what is wrong with you?"

            "There's nothing wrong with him," England says, snapping at America, "You just have no idea what is going on. Now, what year is it for you?"

            America is taken aback for a moment, "England?"

            "Yes, I'm England. Answer the question. What year is it for you?"

            "1863… did everyone have amnesia or something. And why the hell are you here? I thought you wanted nothing to do with me anymore." America looks visibly butt hurt.

            "…I wonder," Canada thinks thoughtfully, "England, where did you put that object that the Mafia gave us?"

            "It's in the other room, why?" England says.

            "Maybe one of the others might have some temporary glasses for America. I'll be right back." Canada runs off.

            "Can someone please tell me what is going on?" America asks once again, visibly annoyed.

            Italy responds first. "Well, for some reason we are all in the future and people are trying to kill us."

            "What do you mean by in the future?"

            "Apparently, the year we are in right now is 2015."

            "What?" America doesn't believe it. "No. Hell no. I have a war to fight. The fate of my country depends on it."

            "That's going to have to be put on standby," England says, obviously put off by this whole situation, "At least until we can go back and people not from our time are trying to kill us. More to the point, where did you get that injury?"

            It takes America a few minutes to take in this information before he says, "Confederate gave me these injuries. A lot of people, including my boss, doesn't think Confederate is his own nation, but he's real, and very much hates my guts, and he very much up and left to make his own nation."

            "And why would he hate you?" Italy asks.

            "Because, I won't let him do a number of different things. Mainly keep slaves. I think that's what this war is about…" America holds his head in his hands. Just thinking about the war made his head hurt. The government individuals were telling him one thing, while his people were telling him another and it hurt being torn, not just with Confederate, but within his own people.

            Canada comes back, and he brings Matthew with him. "How are you feeling, America?" Matthew asks as he takes out a box.

            "Awful… wait, are there two Canada's?"

            "Yes, sort of," Matthew answers, "I'm from this time though. Here, I hope these will work. I think during WWI, Alfred had to get a new prescription. These are backups that I happened to have."

            America puts on the glasses. "Some things are still blurry, but I can see better now."

            "Oh, good."

            "WWI?" Italy asks, "Like the entire world at war?"

            Matthew nods, "Though, it is rather a long and depressing story. It doesn't really have much of a happy ending either."

            "But why? Are you still at war?"

            "No, but there are still high tensions all around the world. And while we strive for peace... well, there are just some countries that cannot work together on that."

            "So what?" England says, "War is a part of life."

            "There are weapons that could wipe out all life, and sadly the countries that have those weapons are the ones who want to use it against other nations."

            Italy looks down at his feet. "That is scary… why would anyone make a weapon like that."

            "To prove that they can." Matthew says solemnly. He then stands up, "I'm going to go back now. I think I heard the Wiccan say that there's a group coming in, so if you want to come with, you're more than welcome… except for America, because you need rest."

            "I'll stay with America," Canada says.

            "Me too," Italy chimes in.

            "I might as well stay, unless someone I know shows up."

            Matthew nods in understanding and walks out of the room. "The future is scary," Italy states.

            "I wonder…" Canada muses, "If we ever do get back to our own times, if there is any way to avoid the conflicts of the future."

            "Why not?" England says, "Wales has always told me that the future is never set in stone."

* * *

 

            "This is not good," the Illuminati says to the Holy Roman Empire as they hide in a set of bushes new where the Relesk base of operations is in this town.

            "Why?" the young nation asks.

            "They have one of you younger nations. And while I would love to go in there and get him, I can't lead you directly into harm's way either."

            "But as you have explained to me, I'm a dead man when I go back to my time." The Illuminati had explained to the Holy Roman Empire earlier about the history of the nation's death, not that the young nation knew about that anyway.

            "Si, however, while you are here, my job is to protect you as best I can. That means not running in recklessly into the b…" The Illuminati stops talking as he sees the Mason come rampaging into the base. "Of course the American would play the hero," the Illuminati sighs under his breath.

            "Who is that?"

            "The Mason. He's an American… or rather was. His nation got broken up a long time ago and so he is a man without a nationality anymore... like me… like the rest of the group we are in." The Illuminati quietly thought about the reality that he and his fellow men had been living with for over the past century.

            "It must be hard."

            "I think it's harder on them. I lost much of my memory of the past, so it doesn't affect me as much; there's a detachment there. For them, they are all fighting the loss inside them every single day. I feel the worst for the Baohu."

            "And why is that?" Holy Roman Empire inquires.

            "He is the oldest of our group. He's been alive for millennia upon millennia, and yet he still lives. I mean, we all are on death's door, waiting for it to take us, but he's been waiting the longest."

            The Mason comes running out, carrying Japan on his back. Japan does not look happy, but at least now he is safe…er.

            The Illuminati takes a second to come up with a plan. It is amazing how much he can focus these days. "How about we make a distraction so that the Mason can get to safety?" he suggests to the nation with him.

            The Holy Roman Empire nods, "Though, what about us?"

            "I have a bit of magic still within me. We can lose them when the time is right and rejoin with the Mason later."

            "Do you know where he is going?"

            "Yes... the Capsler building, if he got the Wiccan's message." While he and the Holy Roman Empire were running about, the Wiccan sent a message to the group saying to meet up in that building as soon as possible. Apparently, something unexpected has come up, "Now, ready?"

            The Holy Roman Empire nods with determination. But before they go, another person runs out of the base.

            "Who's that?" the Holy Roman Empire asks.

            "Not sure. Change of plans, we're following them."

            The two nations run close behind the mystery person through the town, until this person turns into a building. The Illuminati and the Holy Roman Empire wait on both sides of the door. They wait for about 10 minutes before a voice inside the building says, "I know you're out there, Illuminati."

            "How long have you you known?" the Illuminati asks.

            "A while. Right as I entered town. It's because of your companion; it's easier to hear people when there is more than one. You're welcome to enter. There are things we need to talk about."

            The Illuminati gives the Holy Roman Empire a sign that says: Keep your weapon drawn.

            The younger nation nods and they enter the building. It is a house; the first room is a TV room. Sitting down on one of the cushioned chairs is a nation dressed in a grey and blue uniform. Her hair is a medium brown and she is wielding a walkie talkie. "If you could sit and we can begin," she says, but she shakes the walkie talkie at the Illuminati.

            "Of course. Ludwig," the Illuminati looks strait the the Holy Roman Empire, "Let's sit on the couch."

            The Holy Roman Empire does so as the Illuminati goes over to the walkie talkie and started pressing buttons on it. Of course, the young nation wonders why he was refered to as something other than his name, but he knows that this is a delicate situation from the heavy atmosphere in the room.

            "So, Ludwig, let me explain to you properly why you have been brought here," the nation says in a drawn out way, like she is stalling for time. Her accent is visible because the words are so drawn out; it's a form of Russian, but isn't exactly.

            There is a click on the walkie talkie. "You're liberated," the Illuminati says, "Would you mind explaining what you are playing at?" There is some venom in his voice that makes the Holy Roman Empire wonder what this nation did to make the Illuminati angry.

            "I'm bringing you, the resistance, information," the nation states simply.

            "Why?" the Illuminati asks suspiciously, "Last time we asked you if you were on our side or not, you ran."

            "Because now, it is in the best interest of my people to side with you. Pætria doesn't want to kill these younger nations. Not at first. He has a plan to drain their energies and use those energies for himself."

            "Why? He already has the whole world under his control."

            "The next frontier is space," the nation says simply, "I've known that for a long time, and now he wants to go there was well. Since fossil fuels are used up by our time, this is the next best thing, if not better."

            "How do you know all this?"

            "Simple, Pætria has been reading notes from the Russian Space Programs as well as using my people to start building the space equipment. His first destination will probably be the moon, since Mars isn't in a good range right now... though..."

            The Illuminati holds up a hand, signaling the nation to stop. "It doesn't matter what he needs it for exactly. But how does this effect your people negitavely?" Oh, he knows exactly why; he wants to know what this nation knows.

            "Because one of these targeted nations is Russia. If he dies, so does my people. That and my people are already getting killed by the labor the space program requires of them."

            The Illuminati nods. "We need to tell the others. Now."

            "Where?"

            "Follow me... first, though, you need to cover yourself. If you came here with Pætria, no doubt he'll be wanting to look for you right about now."

            The nation goes over to the curtains of the house and pulls them down. They are thick enough to be used as a temporary cloak.

            "Excuse me, but what's your name?" the Holy Roman Empire asks.

            "Ah, right, you can call me Dominika. I am the territory of Sanlend." Dominika finishes taking off the rings from the curtain and puts the cloth over her.

            "Let's go," the Illuminati says, "I don't know how long we have till the Relesk find us."

            "We should have enough time to get to where we need to go," Dominika says, "I came here prepared."

* * *

             Ruslan is not one to lie in the fact of the nation that has united all the world, yet here he is, walking in a brisk pace off to divert the nation himself. If all goes according to Dominika's plan, Pætria will be more focused on this wild goose chase than actually looking for the young nations. It all rests on him.

            Too bad his hands are shaking terribly.

            He goes up to the door of the conference room of the base that is the time machine that Pætria used to bring everyone of his men to this time. The door is closed and there is a red light above it, meaning that he is busy.

            "Please, Dažbog. Now is the time to prove your existence to me and give me strength to not run now," Ruslan says under his breath as he knocks on the door. He knew relatively little of the old gods that some of his people used to believe in, but there were times in which he looked to what he knew of them in order to have the courage to move forward.

            The door promptly opens and Pætria looks down upon this minuscule territory. "What? Can you not see I am in the middle of something?"

            "Sorry sir, but Dom... I mean, Sanlend has something she wanted to share with you." Pætria did not like using human names for the nations. He felt that they were trivial; they were territories in his mind and nothing more.

            Pætria raises an eyebrow, "Then why isn't she here herself?"

            "Because she is out in the field getting proof of a hunch she has on one of the rebels," Ruslan says way too quickly, "Her transmission should be coming in soon, but she wanted me to share this to you now, so that when she comes back, you can discuss further on this topic."

            Pætria sighs and says, "Fine, but be quick about it. I have more important things to discuss."

            "Like what?" Ruslan asks, then immediately regrets it. Rule number one about working with Pætria: never ask questions, especially about things that are none of your business.

            Instead of snapping, Ruslan has this odd smile on his face, "Well, aren't you a curious territory. Why not? I will share with you what I am discussing. Come in."

            Ruslan is terrified, but nevertheless walks in. There are a few other territories around: Yaiyosha, New York, Texas, Nova Scotia, and Jangwanchi. "So, you share first, territory of Belavita. Please, enlighten us as to what Sanlend has found."

            Ruslan swallows and puts down the paper that Dominika gave him. "She had been doing some research in the archives, seeing if there was anything else in this time that you could use, and apparently, there is this object here in America that can be of great worth."

            "Oh, and what may that be?" Pætria sounds amused.

            "USBs. I know we have much better technology in our time, but there are a few USBs here that contain the missing elements of history that have been lost to us because of WWIII."

            "And how, pray tell, can this be useful to me?" This sounds more like a dare than a question.

            "History has a way of repeating itself," Ruslan says, remembering what the Komiet told him once, "Especially when people forget the mistakes history has already made before." Dominika told him before that Pætria had to be aware of this fact, though Ruslan still is trying to figure out why. Wouldn't the great unifying nation know that fact already?

            "Intriguing, and tell me, did Sanlend really put you up to this."

            "Partially." And that was the truth. Ruslan always wanted to help Dominika in any way he could.

            "Well then, I will take a look at the information on these papers. Now, shall we go back to the topic at hand? Please, take a seat, Belavita."

            Ruslan sits next to Yaiyosha. She looks at him for a moment with a calculating eye, then returns to the board. He looks around the room at the other territories present. New York is looking directly at him and is tapping out a message quietly on his wrist. No one else seems to notice.

            "Now, as all of you are aware, a time jump like this will have some repercussions when we return to our time, unless we do something about it."

            The message that New York is typing out reads, "Thank you and I'm sorry. Your message will not go to waste." A sinking feeling crawls up Ruslan's neck.

            "I have come across something far more interesting than USBs. Take a look at this." Pætria pulls up a picture of a rock, in Ruslan's opinion.

            The message continues, "Say your prayers now."

            Trying his best not to show signs of panic, Ruslan gives a message to Dominika through his cell phone that is in his pocket: "Message received, but I think I'm about to die."

            "This is called a time stone, from the information gathered by South California. And apparently, after the tests that Yaiyosha as done, this will be able to patch up time so that our actions here won't have an effect in our version of events, but will in a separate turn of events in which our involvement is apart of history."

            "And how is this beneficial?" Ruslan asks hesitantly, seeing as Pætria looks at him expectantly. The Belavitan is sending smaller messages about the new bit of information to Dominika, hoping no one will look under the table.

            "Why, I am so glad you asked. Once we have gotten all the younger nations together, we will be able to take their energies in order to not only venture into the space program we have been working on, but also make sure that everyone in the world is on the same page. Now, I know that most people are, but there is a fact that there are certain loyalties I don't completely trust. Especially among nations that still use something as archaic as a cell phone."

            Ruslan pales. He feels someone take the cell phone away from him, but he has no idea who (though he suspects Yaiyosha since she is the closest to him).

            "Now, I am sure that you are very loyal to me and the world state, however, there are people tied to you that are not. And whether or not you know what you have done doesn't matter. You are to be made an example of. So…" Pætria pulls out a gun and aims it at Ruslan, "This is goodbye." The trigger is pulled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rodney: (administers treatment for Ruslan's wound) Should we be worried that he's unconscious?
> 
> Me: Let him sleep. I doubt he's gotten much lately considering he's been working under Pætria day and night.
> 
> Rodney: I still can't believe he would do something like that. Just, you don't go against the state because the state is working for you.
> 
> Me: (sighs) Have you read 1984?
> 
> Rodney: No, I've never even heard of it. Why?
> 
> Me: That will explain your answer... though I don't have a copy on me. And I already sold my copy of We back to my school... And The Memory Palace is back at home... I'm going to need to make a library trip tomorrow for you. For those of you who haven't read the aforementioned stories, you should. They all have good elements in them, even though some are better than others. Question time... actually you've gotten no questions. So, I've got something you can talk about: Since you were in the Relesk, did you know about the space program and if so, what's the general plan for that?
> 
> Rodney: I did. I was tasked often enough to go over to Sanlend to check up on progress in the building of the rockets as well as bases that will be used for the project. The main goal is to find life in other worlds, but it is good to take territories that can be inhabited in case there is an emergency and we need to evacuate Earth. The first place we're going to set up bases on is the moon, seeing as we can't get to Mars currently. The moon will mainly be used as an experimental base, where we try new techniques for bases and other space objects. If something goes wrong, the people there can come back to Earth easily enough. That is all I know of it.
> 
> Me: Great. So, I've got to get back to writing, because there is a lot going to be explained in the next chapter or so. Until next post, please comment, it helps with my writing. I'm still taking questions for Rodney and will be starting to take questions for Ruslan, seeing as he is here for the foreseeable future.


End file.
